OTHER    POEMS 


THE  LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


CROWN  OUR  HEROES 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


MRS.  MARY  E.  KAIL. 


This  book  is  offered,  that  this  book  mriy  be 
A  friend  to  you,  as  it  has  been  to  me  ; 
For  through  the  trials  of  the  passing  years, 
To  write  its  lines  was  balm  for  all  my  tears. 


WASHINGTON,  D.  C.  : 

JUDD    *    DETWEILER,    PRINTERS. 

1887. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of 
Congress  by  Mrs.  MARY  E.  KAIL,  in  the  year  1887. 


NOTE. — John  Church  &  Co.,  8.  Brainard's  Sons,  and  W.  F.  Shaw  own  the 
copyrights  of  songs  in  this  collection,  which  are  placed  under  their  respect 
ive  names,  and  published  by  permission.  The  song  "  By  and  By  the  Roses 
Wither,"  was  written  for  S.  Brainard  in  1870,  but  has  been  since  published 
by  White,  Smith  &  Co.,  and  other  publishers. 


TO 

THE    GRAND   ARMY   OF   THE   REPUBLIC; 
EVERY    LIVING    AND    EVERY    DEAD    SOLDIER; 

AND    TO 

MRS.    LELAND    STANFORD, 

WHOSE    GENTLE     CHRISTIAN     SYMPATHY    HAS    SOOTHED 
SO  MANY  SUFFERING  HEARTS,  AND  BROUGHT 

THE 

MORNING    OF   JOY 
TO    THE    HOME    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 


.1  03590?. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Crown  Our  Heroes I 

General  Grant's  Funeral  Ode 2 

To  Mrs.  Leland  Stanford 4 

Poem  of  Welcome 6 

Thou  Hast  Won  My  Heart  to  Love  Thee 7 

Flowers  Around  the  Picture 8 

A  Spray  of  Jasmine. to 

We  Sing  of  the  Merry  Harvest-Time II 

Little  Effie 12 

Some  One 13 

How  We  Journey 14 

A  Picture  of  Life 15 

Two  Natures 17 

Blue  Morning-Glory 18 

Genius 19 

Two  Altars 20 

A  Shower  of  Roses 21 

An  Autumn  Day  . 22 

Rest,  Mother,  Rest 24 

Sweet  Vale  of  Connotton 25 

Crocus 27 

If  we  Could  Know 28 

Jonquil 30 

Pretty  Little  Maiden   .__ __. 31 

Our  Silver  Wedding  Song .. 32 

Morning,  Noon,  and  Night 34 

I  Am  Trusting  in  God 35 

His  Footstep  at  the  Door 37 

Daffodil 38 

(V) 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

My  Little  Son  and  I 39 

We  Silently  Slumber  at  Last 4° 

Pretty  Robin-Redbreast 41 

Frozen 42 

Rest 43 

Autumn  Glory 44 

Ohio 46 

Come  Where  the  Flowers  Lie  Sleeping 47 

For  Me,  Sweet  Birds 49 

There  Is  a  Difference 50 

Emancipation  Day 51 

A  Winter  Day 54 

My  Love  of  Long  Ago 55 

My  Love  is  True  to  Me 56 

A  Reverie 57 

Marguerite 59 

On  the  Evergreen  Shore 60 

The  Recompense  of  Faith 61 

Rest,  Noble  Hero,  Rest 63 

What  is  Poetry 64 

The  Old  Hearthstone 66 

A  Song  of  Sadness 67 

Tell  Me  Roses 69 

Summer  Weather 70 

Sometime 71 

Sea- Anemones 72 

The  Voice  of  the  Roses 74 

The  River's  Answer 75 

I  Envy  Not 77 

Inauguration  Ode 78 

Beautiful  Violets 80 

A  Fragment 81 

Heaven  Bless  the  Little  Boys 82 

Farewell  to  the  Ohio  Editors 83 

In  Silence  Now 84 

Centennial  Ode 85 

Mabel 88 

Faded  Lilies , 89 

A  Gift  of  Roses 90 


CONTENTS.  VII 

PAGE. 

A  Welcome gi 

At  Last ^ 95 

Oh,  No,  Not  There   ' 99 

Silvery  Waves 100 

At  the  Gate  I  Wait  for  Thee 101 

Under  the  Roof-tree 102 

Our  Thanksgiving 103 

From  the  Rill  to  the  Ocean 104 

Lines  in  a  Young  Lady's  Album 106 

Violets 107 

Claribel  Lee 108 

The  Pauper 109 

Oh,  Sing  for  me  a  Song  To-night I II 

By  and  By  the  Roses  Wither 112 

At  Close  of  Day 113 

I  Was  Waiting  for  a  Letter  _. 114 

I'm  Dreaming  I'm  an  Infant 115 

My  Mother's  Flowers 117 

Tell  Me,  Darling,  that  You  Miss  Me 118 

I'll  Dream  Love  of  Thee 119 

Jennie  Vernon 121 

Summer  Night 123 

The  Music  of  Tears 124 

Send  Me 125 

I  Am  Weary,  Oh,  My  Father___ 126 

Softly  and  Low 127 

To  My  Bride  of  Thirty  Years 128 

What  Shall  We  Name  the  Baby  ? 129 

Gloomy  Weather 131 

An  Autumn  Revery 132 

Cold,  My  Darling 134 

Give  Me  Back  My  Childhood 135 

Life  is  Short  and  Death  is  Near 136 

In  the  Garden  137 

Into  the  Fields  With  Golden  Grain 138 

Bitter  Wine 139 

Cast  Off 140 

Then  Life  Were  Worth  the  Living 142 

Only  a  Woman's  Smile 144 


VIII  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Our  Angel  Watchers 145 

Another  Year 146 

Thrice  Wedded 147 

Brightness 149 

Submission 150 

Departed  June 151 

With  the  Gift  of  a  Rose    152 

Gentle  Words 153 

Little  Mary 154 

Where  Shall  the  Soul  Find  Rest 156 

To  an  Old  Friend 157 


CROWN  OUR  HEROES. 


CROWN  OUR  HEROES. 


[The  following  poem  was  read  by  Mrs.  Davidson,  of  Alabama,  Deco 
ration  Day,  1 88 1,  at  the  tomb  of  Washington,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  visit  to  that  place  of  George  Washington  Post,  G.  A.  R. ,  Gen. 
M.  T.  McMahon,  commanding,  the  verses  placed  in  their  archives 
and  the  writer  presented  with  the  badge  of  the  Post,  a  gold  hatchet 
on  blue  silk.J 


Crown  our  heroes,  the  soldiers,  whose  spirits  have  fled 
To  the  land  of  the  blest :  crown  the  heroic  dead. 
Let  the  fair  hand  of  woman  weave  garlands  of  flowers 
Kissed  by  heaven's  pure  sunlight  in  sweet  morning  hours. 
Go  tenderly,  gently,  and  scatter  them  where 
Our  heroes  are  sleeping, — go  scatter  them  there. 

Crown  our  heroes,  the  soldiers,  who  sleep  on  the  shore 
Where  the  call  of  the  bugle  can  wake  them  no  more. 
Men  who  fought  to  defend  us — oh,  can  we  forget 
The  tribute  of  glory  we  owe  to  them  yet  ? 
Bring  love's  fairest  offerings,  with  tears  and  with  prayer, 
And  gratefully,  sacredly  scatter  them  there. 

Crown  our  heroes,  the  soldiers,  whose  grandeur  and  power 
Saved  our  own  dear  Columbia  in  war's  troubled  hour — 
When  amid  the  fierce  struggle  each  soul  was  a  host, 
Who  was  ready  to  die  lest  his  country  be  lost. 
They  are  dead  !  they  are  dead  !  what  now  can  we  do 
As  a  token  of  love  for  the  noble  and  true  ? 


2 

Crown  our  heroes,  the  soldiers.     Oh  !  scatter  the  flowers 
O'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  :  they  are  yours,  they  are  ours. 
Men  who  fought  for  the  flag,  and  our  foes  in  the  fray ; 
For  as  brothers  they  sleep,  both  the  blue  and  the  gray. 
And  true  to  our  banner,  our  offerings  we  bring, — 
Blushing  roses  of  summer,  and  violets  of  spring. 

Crown  our  heroes,  God  bless  them  !  no  true  heart  must  lag: 
Crown  the  dead  and  the  living  who  stood  by  the  flag. 
Through  the  oncoming  ages  let  each  have  a  name 
Carved  in  letters  of  gold  in  the  temple  of  fame ; 
For  the  bright  Stars  of  Freedom — our  banner  unfurled — 
Is  the  joy  of  Columbia,  the  pride  of  the  world  ! 


GENERAL  GRANT'S  FUNERAL  ODE. 


[From  Memorial  Edition  of  the  NATIONAL  REPUBLICAN.] 


Muffle  the  drums,  for  the  hero  is  dead  ! 

And  our  tears  tell  the  sorrowing  story ; 
From  pain  and  from  suffering  his  spirit  has  fled, 

And  we  bury  our  chief  in  his  glory. 
Nevermore  shall  the  voice  of  the  clarion's  call 

Wake  the  dearly  loved  form  from  its  sleeping ; 
Whisper  low  !  let  the  music  in  reverence  fall, 

While  around  him  a  nation  is  weeping. 


-3- 

Our  tears  for  the  hero  while  angels  proclaim, 

He  has  passed  o'er  the  heavenly  portal, 
Where  wreaths  of  the  victor  and  laurels  of  fame 

Have  been  changed  for  the  glory  immortal. 
Rest,  soldier,  rest,  for  'tis  joyful  to  know — 

Ah,  was  it  e'er  known  by  another?  — 
Gallant  men,  who  once  stood  in  the  ranks  of  the  foe, 

Love  you  now  as  a  friend  and  a  brother. 

Round  his  grave  we  will  gather  with  tributes  of  love, 

And  the  songs  of  his  country's  devotion, 
While  the  flag  of  Columbia  floats  proudly  above, 

Reaching  out  to  the  isles  of  the  ocean. 
And  'mid  glory  awaiting  the  on-coming  years, 

Loving  friends  shall  plant  summer's  sweet  flowers, 
That  shall  blossom  and  bloom  'neath  their  fast  falling  tears 

O'er  the  grave  of  this  hero  of  ours. 

Mufflle  the  drums  while  the  people  draw  near, 

Every  heart  with  a"  voice  of  caressing  ; 
Touch  gently  the  chords  of  each  memory  dear 

For  it  brings  us  a  boon  and  a  blessing. 
Fold  softly  his  battle  flags  over  his  breast 

And  disturb  not  his  wonderful  sleeping ; 
With  a  world's  benediction  our  hero  shall  rest 

While  his  spirit  is  safe  in  Heaven's  keeping. 


—  4— 


TO  MRS.  LELAND  STANFORD. 


AN  ANGEL   CAME  TO   ME   WHEN   DREAMING. 


"  Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits  ?" 

[The  late  Leland  Stanford,  jr.,  whose  example  of  youthful  piety  should 
be  a  lesson  to  children  of  the  entire  world,  always  repeated  before 
retiring  to  rest,  the  beautiful  prayer, — "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to 
sleep,"  and  invoked  the  Heavenly  blessing  upon  his  beloved  par 
ents.  The  author  has  taken  the  liberty  to  embody  this  impressive 
incident  in  the  following  poem,  feeling,  as  the  Bible  teaches,  that 
Heaven  and  the  angels  are  very  nigh  to  those  who  believe.  It  is 
well  known  that  the  Hon.  Leland  Stanford's  princely  gift  to  the 
State  of  California,  was  not  only  bestowed  in  commemoration  of 
the  memory  of  his  son,  but  also  to  carry  out  the  expressed  wishes 
and  plans  of  his  child;  whose  love  and  consideration  for  children 
was  only  exceeded  by  his  devotion  to  his  dear  father  and  mother.} 


An  angel  came  to  me  when  dreaming, 

And  whispered  fond  words,  sweet  and  low ; 
While  on  my  face  the  tears  were  streaming — 

But  why  those  tears  I  could  not  know. 
Yet,  I  had  lost  an  earthly  treasure 

As  pure  as  flower  of  earth  could  be ; 
And  I  had  loved  him  beyond  measure, 

For  he  was  heaven  and  life  to  me. 

Now  by  my  side,  the  angel  kneeling — 
I  saw  the  bright  form  in  my  sleep — 

Prayed  reverently,  with  deepest  feeling, 
"  I  pray  thee  Lord  my  soul  to  keep — • 

And  bless  my  father  and  my  mother — 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake — 


I  love  them  as  I  love  no  other — 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

Then  bending  low  with  fond  devotion, 

The  holy  angel  sweetly  smiled, 
And  with  a  mother's  strong  emotion 

I  knew  it  was  our  precious  child. 
While  'round  me  golden  light  was  falling, 

Our  darling  whispered  soft  and  low, 
"  My  angel  friends  from  heaven  are  calling, 

Kiss  me  good-night  before  I  go." 

Then  with  angelic  touch  caressing, 

My  lips  were  pressed  with  kisses  sweet ; 
And  thus  in  beauty  and  in  blessing 

My  heavenly  dream  was  all  complete. 
And  though  sometimes  my  feet  may  weary 

While  walking  through  the  coming  years, 
The  path  of  life  shall  ne'er  be  dreary — 

Since  love  has  been  baptised  in  tears. 

Heaven  is  our  trust !  there  is  no  other, 

And  thus  we  hear  our  angel  say — 
"  Lookup  to  Jesus — father,  mother; 

His  hand  shall  wipe  your  tears  away." 
Our  bud  of  promise  still  unfolding, 

'Mid  fragrance  of  the  life  divine  ; 
Beyond  the  blue,  our  eyes  beholding 

Shall  see  him  rise  to  manhood's  prime. 
JANUARY  ist,  1887. 


—  6  — 


POEM  OF  WELCOME. 


[To  Gen.  Lucius  Fairchild,  of  Wisconsin,  Commander-in-Chief  of  the 
G.  A.  R.,  read  by  Comrade  W.  S.  Odell,  Washington,  D.  C., 
Sept.  23,  1886.] 


Hail,  our  chieftain  !  We  greet  thee  with  glory  to-night, 
While  around  us  the  stars  of  Columbia  shine  bright, 
And  the  stripes  of  our  banner  in  beauty  unfurled 
Speak  the  joy  of  our  nation  and  pride  of  the  world. 
Every  star  flecked  with  gold  in  its  heaven-born  place, 
Every  stripe  proudly  streaming  with  rapturous  grace. 
In  this  soul  of  the  nation,  we  bid  thee  good  cheer, 
For  as  brothers  united  we  welcome  you  here. 

Yes,  welcome,  thrice  welcome ;  we  well  understand 
That  we  greet  thee  as  one  who  was  born  to  command, 
With  the  guerdon  of  Justice  and  Liberty's  dower, 
While  the  blessing  of  brave  hearts  gives  strength  to  your 

power. 

Thus  the  rainbow  of  love  forms  an  arch  overhead 
That  shall  brighten  the  path  where  your  armies  are  led — 
Men  who  marched  at  the  sound  of  the  clarion's  call ; 
Men  who  laid  on  the  altars  of  freedom  their  all. 

Hail,  our  chieftain  !  To  glory  we're  marching  along; 
Let  the  sky,  air  and  ocean  re-echo  our  song  ; 
While  our  grand  institutions,  so  brilliant  in  fame, 
Speak  the  triumph  our  souls  would  so  proudly  proclaim. 


To  our  comrades  and  brothers  all  over  the  land 
We  extend  renewed  vows,  and  a  firm  proffered  hand ; 
That  each  heart  may  unite  in  the  interest  of  all, 
Standing  true  to  their  trust,  when  our  country  shall  call ! 

Hail,  our  chieftain  !     We  greet  thee  and  offer  to  you 

The  laurel  wreath,  twined  for  the  noble  and  true ; 

And  we  pledge  you  good   faith,  through  the  on-coming 

years, 

Though  our  hopes  may  be  dimmed  by  the  memory  of  tears. 
Ah!  brothers,  to-night,  'round  this  banquet  outspread, 
We  are  bound  by  the  living  and  bound  by  the  dead. 
By  the  North  and  the  South,  all  united  and  free — 
By  the  deeds  of  the  past,  and  our  works  yet  to  be. 


THOU  HAST  WON  MY  HEART  TO  LOVE  THEE. 


[Music  published  by  John  Church  &  Co.] 


Thou  hast  won  my  heart  to  love  thee 

The  old  time  dream  is  past ; 
Thy  tender,  earnest  pleading 

Has  won  my  heart  at  last ; 
The  brilliant  stars  of  heaven 

That  are  mirrored  in  the  sea 
Cannot  be  more  true  and  lasting 

Than  the  love  I  give  to  thee. 


—  8  — 

Thou  has  won  my  heart  to  love  thee ; 

I  bow  before  love's  shrine 
And  whisper  with  a  trusting  heart, 

My  darling,  I  am  thine ; 
And  though  thou  shouldst  forget  thy  vows 

And  prove  untrue  to  me, 
The  heart  thou  hast  so  bravely  won, 

Will  still  be  true  to  thee. 

Thou  hast  won  my  heart  to  love  thee 

And  bound  me  by  love's  chain, 
And  through  life  a  willing  captive 

I  ever  shall  remain  ; 
And  when  upon  that  blissful  shore 

My  spirit  shall  be  free, 
A  nobler  and  a  purer  love 

I  then  shall  give  to  thee. 


FLOWERS  AROUND  THE  PICTURE. 


[Suggested  on  learning  that  President  Arthur,  every  morning,  wreathes 
in  fresh  flowers  the  portrait  of  his  beloved  wife,  the  late  Nellie 
Herndon  Arthur.] 


My  darling,  while  around  your  calm,  sweet  face, 

I  wreathe  these  precious  flowers, 
Fond  memory  bears  me  with  a  tender  grace 

To  life's  fair  morning  hours, 


-9- 

When,  like  a  radiant  vision  of  the  skies — 

An  angel  form  divine — 
I  saw  the  rapture  in  your  smiling  eyes, 

And  knew  that  you  were  mine. 

Hope's  rainbow-arch  across  life's  ambient  sky 

With  heaven  was  all  aglow — 
Earth  seemed  a  dream,  even  heaven  itself  was  nigh, 

For  heaven  was  here  below. 
Each  star  that  flashed  across  the  azure  blue 

From  out  the  dome  above 
Seemed  to  our  hearts,  so  trusting  and  so  true, 

A  golden  gleam  of  love. 

My  darling,  may  this  precious  wreath  of  flowers 
Remain  an  emblem  of  that  holier  life  of  ours. 
When  far  above  earth's  tumult  and  its  strife 
Our  souls  shall  meet  in  God's  immortal  life, 
Where  sweet-voiced  roses  never  know  decay, 
And  angel  hands  shall  wipe  our  tears  away. 

WASHINGTON,  D,  C.,June  15,  1882. 


A  SPRAY  OF  JASMINE. 


Within  the  shadow  of  my  quiet  room 

I  sit  and  dream ; 

While  near  my  casement  trembling  snowflakes  fall 
And  spread  a  chilling  mantle  over  all 

The  fields,  that  once  were  robed  in  shimmering  green. 

I  dream,  and  in  a  far  off  southern  clime 

With  fragrance  fraught, 
I  am  surrounded  by  arcadian  bowers 
Golden  with  beauty  of  the  jasmine  flowers, 
By  fairy  fingers  into  garlands  wrought. 

And  through  the  branches  of  the  waving  pines 

And  arches  dim, 

There  floats  a  melody,  so  sweet  and  low, 
'Tis  like  unto  a  river's  rythmic  flow 

Or  grand  primeval  forest's  evening  hymn. 

And  clinging  mosses  drape  the  graceful  trees 

Just  as  the  veil 

Conceals  the  blushes  of  the  loving  bride  ; 
When  kneeling  proudly  by  her  lover's  side 
She  vows  to  love  him  until  life  shall  fail. 

Sweet  south-wind  whisper  low  and  tell  me  why 

I  thus  am  blest ; 
With  tranquil  joy  I  view  the  crimson  sky 


Whose  opal  tints  upon  the  ocean  lie — 
Like  the  full  glory  of  a  soul  at  rest. 

But  ah,  though  orange  groves  inspire  my  dream, 

And  perfumed  showers 
Of  sea-kissed  roses  nestle  at  my  feet — 
Without  this  gift  my  dream  were  incomplete, 

Your  welcome  gift,  my  friend,  of  jasmine  flowers. 

Dear  friend,  this  spray  of  jasmine  speaks  to  me 

Of  summer  lands, 

And  fancy  weaves  a  garland  bright  and  fair 
That  in  the  coming  years  my  soul  shall  wear ; 
My  dream  dissolves,  I  wake  by  angel  hands. 


WE  SING  OF  THE  MERRY  HARVEST  TIME. 


SONG. 
We  sing  of  the  merry  harvest  time 

When  skies  are  all  aglow, 
And  blossoms  of  the  summer  days 

Are  drifting  scented  snow. 
And  listening  to  the  robin's  song, 

Oh,  how  we  love  to  stray 
With  bleating  flocks  and  lowing  herds 

Down  by  the  new-mown  hay. 


CHORUS. 

We  sing  of  the  merry  harvest  time, 
With  hearts  athrill  to  music's  chime, 
Though  clouds  are  dark  and  tides  are  low, 
We'll  dance  along  and  onward  go, 
Singing  of  the  harvest  time. 

We  sing  of  the  merry  harvest  time, 

Strange  fancies  memory  weaves, 
Of  harvesters  with  dancing  feet 

Who  gathered  golden  sheaves. 
We  love  to  dream  of  the  reaper's  song — 

How  bright  those  memories  seem — 
When  love  was  young  and  hope  was  fair, 

And  life  was  but  a  dream. 


LITTLE  EFFIE. 


Little  Effie,  with  golden  hair, 
Eyes  eclipsing  the  violet's  blue ; 

Lips,  like  rubies,  that  always  wear 
A  smile  of  brighter  and  richer  hue. 

Little  Effie,  with  childish  glee, 
Chasing  the  fleeting  hours  away; 

Radiant,  beautiful,  fancy  free, 
Dancing  merrily  all  the  day. 


Gathering  sunshine,  where  it  lies 
Deep  in  the  lily's  cup  of  gold, 

Angels  whisper  from  out  the  skies  : 
"  Purer  than  lily — a  thousand  fold." 

Little  Effie,  at  close  of  day, 

Bows  at  the  bedside  her  golden  head — 
Hear  the  innocent  prattler  pray : 

"  Bless  me  before  I  go  to  bed." 

Oh,  that  the  weary,  o'erworn  with  care, 
Walking  life's  journey  with  tired  feet, 

Would  learn  from  Effie  to  turn  in  prayer 
To  Heaven  for  a  benediction  sweet. 


SOME  ONE. 


Hark !  the  bell  tolling,  and  crape  on  the  door ; 
Dear  ones  are  weeping  as  never  before ; 
Fond  hearts  are  sighing ;  their  joy  is  all  fled, 
For  the  pride  of  the  household  lies  silent  and  dead. 

Some  one  was  borne  by  the  angels  away — 
Weary  of  toiling,  no  longer  could  stay  ; 
Some  one  is  robed  in  a  vesture  of  white, 
Who  faithfully  conquered  by  doing  the  right. 


—  14  — 

Some  one  has  gone  from  trial  and  sin 
To  the  land  where  temptation  can  enter  not  in 
Some  one  has  gone  to  the  isle  of  the  blest — 
Some  one  has  gone  where,  the  weary  find  rest. 

Some  one  has  gone  to  the  beautiful  shore, 
With  angels  above,  to  rejoice  evermore. 
Saved  from  all  sorrow  I  know  I  shall  be, 
For  some  one  in  heaven  is  waiting  for  me. 


HOW  WE  JOURNEY. 


How  oft  through  life  we  idly  wander 

O'er  the  green  fields  with  daisies  bright, 
Where,  from  the  trees,  fresh  apple  blossoms 

Scatter  their  crowns  of  pink  and  white ; 
Where  blushing  roses  breathe  fond  kisses 

From  lips  all  moist  with  scented  dew ; 
'Twould  seem  that  thus,  so  bliss  enchanted, 

We  fain  would  walk  life's  journey  through. 

Regardless  of  the  souls  who  journey — 

Their  lives  o'ercast  with  shades  of  night — 
While  hopeless  tasks  and  tears  of  sorrow 

Obscure  life's  roses  from  their  sight ; 
With  bleeding  feet  and  hands  o'erburdened 

With  constant  toil  and  withering  cares, 
While  others  reap  the  golden  fruitage 

They  may  but  gather  up  the  tares. 


A  PICTURE  OF  LIFE. 


An  exquisite  picture  I  now  recall, 

That  was  long  ago  painted  on  memory's  wall, 

Of  a  fair  little  babe  on  its  mother's  breast, 

Who  had  tenderly  closed  its  blue  eyes  to  rest ; 

And  the  chubby  hands,  with  their  dimples  deep, 

Were  folded  like  lilies  in  infant  sleep, 

And  the  artist  had  touched,  with  a  masterful  grace, 

Every  line  on  the  beautiful  sleeper's  face. 

But  the  picture  has  changed,  and  behold  now  I  see 
A  golden-haired  boy  at  his  mother's  knee  ; 
The  bright  face  is  all  radiant  with  childish  glee, 
And  the  possible  hopes  that  are  yet  to  be. 
While  the  lips  seem  to  whisper,  as  children  can, 
"  O  mamma,  I  love  you  !  I'm  your  little  man  !  " 
And  the  mother  looks  down  with  a  tearful  surprise, 
For  she  sees  the  soul  life  in  her  darling  boy's  eyes. 

Now  the  child  turns  away  and  a  proud  youth  appears, 
And  his  eyes  speak  the  promise  of  oncoming  years ; 
What  cares  he  for  the  world  or  the  swift-fleeting  hours 
When  his  life  is  all  garlanded  over  with  flowers  ? 
His  soul  is  enraptured  with  life's  music  sweet, 
While  he  echoes  the  song  with  his  glorified  feet  ? 
And  his  lips  wear  a  smile,  while  his  heart  seems  to  say, 
"  I'm  a  man  that  the  world  shall  acknowledge  some  day." 


—  i6  — 

But  the  youth  disappears,  and  a  brave,  manly  form, 
Who  has  gathered  life's  harvest  in  sunshine  and  storm,. 
Speaks  out  from  the  canvas,  and  now  seems  to  feel 
That  the  world  is  a  foeman  deserving  his  steel ; 
And  his  future  is  great  with  the  works  of  the  past, 
For  he  knows  that  men's  good  deeds  are  garnered  at  last ; 
And  he  knows  life  is  earnest,  if  men  are  but  true, 
And  each  heart  finds  the  work  which  the  strong  hands 
must  do. 

Ah  !  the  picture  has  changed — and  now,  weary  with  tears, 

I  see  a  form  bowed  by  the  gathering  years. 

The  cheek  has  grown  pallid,  the  footstep  is  slow, 

And  the  hair  is  as  silver  as  winter's  bleak  snow. 

But  the  soul  has  grown  rich  in  its  ocean  of  grace, 

And  the  eyes  look  above  to  the  heavenly  place 

Where  his  heart's  treasures  are,  and  where  he,  after  all, 

Shall  lovingly  answer  the  good  angel's  call. 

Now  the  end  has  drawn  nigh,  and  a  bright  angel  band 
Have  arrived  from  the  courts  of  the  heavenly  land ; 
But  the  artist  is  weeping  with  soul-throbbing  pain, 
For  he  knows  that  his  labor  would  all  be  in  vain. 
For  no  pencil  of  artist,  nor  poet's  charmed  song, 
Could  picture  the  bliss  of  the  seraphim  throng ; 
But  we  know  that  we  live,  and  must  work  for  the  best, 
And  can  trust  to  the  love  of  our  Father  the  rest. 


T  *7  

TWO  NATURES. 


There  are  spirits  who  walk  through  life's  mystical  way, 

Ever  toiling  on  wearily  day  after  day, 

Looking  downward  so  close  to  the  earth  which  they  tread 

That  they  see  not  the  stars  in  the  sky  overhead. 

Ah,  the  hours  are  so  slow  and  the  days  are  so  long — 

For  they  know  not  the  joy  of  life's  wonderful  song. 

Thus  the  road  is  made  rough  to  their  slow,  plodding  feet, 

And  life's  rapturous  smiles  but  a  dream  incomplete. 

There  are  spirits  with  wings  and  they  noiselessly  fly, 

Bearing  all  of  life's  burdens  aloft  to  the  sky; 

And  though  trials  and  sorrows  around  them  may  throng, 

They  wake  up  the  world  with  their  heaven-born  song. 

Like  the  lark  they  may  rise  till  they  soar  out  of  sight, 

Reflecting  each  star-gem  that  gladdens  the  night; 

But  like  dewdrops  that  fall  on  the  roses  at  even, 

They  bring  back  to  the  world  the  sweet  perfume  of  heaven. 

Blessed  spirits,  surrounding  with  beauty  and  grace 
The  mansion  of  wealth  and  the  humblest  place ; 
All  our  tears  are  forgotten  and  hushed  is  our  fear, 
For  we  know  in  their  presence  God's  angels  are  near. 
They  have  learned  the  true  faith,  that,  without  asking  why, 
It  is  glory  to  live,  and  'tis  glory  to  die. 
Unto  them  has  the  record  of  ages  been  given, 
That  the  music  of  earth  is  the  prelude  of  Heaven. 


— 18  — 


BLUE  MORNING-GLORY. 


My  blue  morning-glory 

All  radiant  with  sweetness — 
Your  voice  like  the  thrush's  song 

Tender  and  true, 
And  heart  overflowing 

With  gentle  completeness, 
You  scatter  rich  blessings 

In  all  that  you  do. 

When  you  swing  your  blue  bells 

From  the  vine-trellissed  bower; 
Or  come  to  my  window 

To  smile  in  my  face, — 
You  are  ever  the  same  pretty 

Summer-kissed  flower, 
Whose  friends  all  admire  you 

For  beauty  and  grace. 

But  should  the  south-wind 

Breathe,  a  message  of  sadness ; 
Or  clouds  in  the  heavens 

Bring  tears  to  your  eyes ; 
Look  within  your  pure  soul 

For  the  glory  and  gladness, 
That  shall  brighten  your  life 

With  a  joyful  surprise. 


—  19  — 


Imperial  genius,  great  and  grand  thou  art, 
Standing  from  other  lives  so  wide  apart ; 
The  modest  veil  that  drapes  your  glowing  face 
Cannot  conceal  the  mastery  of  your  grace. 
Oh,  genius,  where  the  mellow  sunlight  streams 
And  weaves  of  golden  threads  a  jeweled  crown, 
And  where  the  holiest  star  of  evening  gleams, 
There,  at  thy  shrine,  I  bow  in  silence  down. 

And  when  the  lark  repeats  the  song  of  spring, 
And  dips  in  heaven's  own  blue  his  fearless  wing, 
'Till  rising  thus,  above  the  earth-born  throng 
He  wakes  the  world  with  his  immortal  song  ; 
Around  thy  brow  a  halo  light  is  there, 
Which  makes  thy  face  than  angel's  face  more  fair, 
Then  in  thy  soul  I  hear  the  thought  waves  throb 
And  know  thou  art  a  prototype  of  God  ; 

And  when  I  hear  the  rippling  song  of  June — 
A  wildwood  harp  with  every  string  in  tune ; 
When  every  budding  flower  is  all  athrill 
With  melody  which  none  but  June  can  trill, 
And  drowsy  bees  in  minor  monotone 
Kiss  the  queen  lily  on  her  virgin  throne  ; 
Oh,  then  proud  genius,  kneeling  at  thy  feet, 
I  find  the  balm  that  makes  earth  life  complete. 


20 

And  when  at  hush  of  golden  summer  day 
I  see  the  crimson  slowly  drift  away, 
And  purple  clouds  and  clouds  of  amber  hue 
Sail  like  good  ships  across  the  ethereal  blue, 
And  from  the  censers  of  the  sleeping  flowers 
Sweet  perfumes  rise  to  charm  the  evening  hours  j 
Oh  !  then,  loved  genius,  kneeling  at  thy  shrine 
I  know  the  power  that  blends  with  life  divine. 


TWO  ALTARS. 


I  built  an  altar  fair  and  bright, 

And  placed  it  on  the  sand ; 
Its  pillars,  decked  with  costly  gems, 

Were  fashioned  by  my  hand. 
Of  all  things  great,  on  earth  or  sea, 
I  said  its  workmanship  should  be 

The  finest  in  the  land. 

When  frorn  its  censer  of  pure  gold 

I  saw  the  incense  rise — 
Poor  foolish  heart,  I  vainly  asked, 

Where  is  the  sacrifice  ? 
A  voice  came  throbbing  through  my  brain 

"  Your  altar  is  but  clay." 
A  wave  dashed  high  upon  the  shore 

And  washed  it  all  away. 


Ah,  vain  is  sorrow  now,  I  said, 

And  useless  is  regret ; 
The  clouds  that  broke  my  altar  down 

Are  big  with  mercy  yet. 
I  turned  to  Heaven,  and  asked  for  help 

To  build  again  once  more, 
And  found  the  place  to  build  would  be 

A  rock  upon  the  shore. 

Faith,  Hope  and  Love,  then  helped  me  rear 

A  structure  firm  and  high, 
Whose  base  is  built  upon  a  rock, 

Its  summit  in  the  sky. 
The  flowers  that  round  my  altar  twine 

Shall  bloom  through  all  the  years, 
For  when  the  sunshine  dries  their  leaves 

I  water  them  with  tears. 

When  trials  come  and  storms  assail, 

And  sorrow  leaves  its  trace, 
The  rock,  whereon  my  altar  stands, 

Shall  be  my  hiding  place. 


A  SHOWER  OF  ROSES. 


In  through  the  casement  of  my  morning  room 
A  breeze  steals  softly,  laden  with  perfume, 
For  heaven  had  rained  from  out  the  realms  of  light 
A  shower  of  roses  on  the  world  last  night. 


Bright  fairy  blossoms,  speaking  hope  and  love 
To  soothe  the  weary;  pointing  them  above 
To  the  unfading  hills,  where  they  may  rest 
From  labor  evermore  among  the  blest. 

Immortal  roses,  tell  me  can  it  be 
You  hold  within  your  hearts  a  shrine  for  me  ? 
Whisper  your  answer  softly,  speak  it  low, 
Sweetest  and  best  of  all  the  flowers  that  grow. 

Oh,  precious  treasures  of  the  summer  time 
Your  fond  reply  my  soul  receives  sublime. 
While  drinking  from  your  lips  love's  nectar  sweet, 
You  cast  your  crowns  of  beauty  at  my  feet. 

A  shower  .of  roses  !  coming  from  the  skies, 
With  fragrant  voice  you  make  poor  mortals  wise ; 
For  speaketh  not  the  rose,  with  dying  breath, 
A  hope  that  liveth  even  after  death  ? 


AN  AUTUMN  DAY. 


A  stillness  rests  upon  the  dreaming  hills — 

A  glory  on  the  flowers ; 
It  seems  to  me,  this  autumn  day  was  born 

Of  holier  days  than  ours. 

An  inspiration  from  the  realms  above 
Is  borne  among  the  trees, 


And  fragrant  dewdrops  from  the  ambient  sky 
Perfume  the  evening  breeze. 

The  south-wind  echoes  low  in  whispered  song, 

A  chime  of  vesper  bells, 
And  listening  to  the  music's  rippling  flow 

My  heart  with  rapture  swells. 

A  holy  calm  that  lights  the  poet's  thought 

Is  resting  everywhere ; 
Each  trembling  blade  of  emerald  grass  is  fraught 

With  fragrant,  voiceless  prayer. 

The  autumn  leaves,  about  to  say  farewell, 

Are  robed  in  gold  and  rose — 
Their  transient  lives  have  known  earth's  fairest  charms, 

And  none  of  earthly  woes. 

The  heavens  with  royal  grace  are  bending  low 

In  ecstasy  divine — 
To  touch  with  smiling  lips  the  proffered  cup 

Of  nature's  sparkling  wine. 

In  vain  my  pen  the  tranquil  scene  would  trace 

Where  angel  feet  have  trod ; 
I  only  know,  this  is  a  time  and  place 

To  kneel  and  worship  God  ! 

And  though  the  winter  days  are  drawing  nigh 

With  storms  of  hail  and  rain, 
The  benediction  I  receive  to-day 

Shall  keep  my  heart  from  pain. 


—  24  — 


REST,  MOTHER,  REST. 


[In  Memory  of  the  Mother  of  Mr.  Samuel  G.  Kinsiey.     Adapted  to 
music  by  Mrs.  Clara  Moore,  New  Philadelphia,  O.] 


Rest,  mother,  rest,  your  care  and  toil  are  ended, 

Your  trials  over  and  your  work  well  done ; 
At  Heaven's  gate,  by  angel  guards  attended, 

Your  crown  was  given  you — the  victory  won. 
Rest,  mother,  rest,  and  peaceful  be  your  slumber, 

Your  dear  hands  folded  o'er  your  gentle  breast ; 
Above  your  grave  shall  blessings  without  number 

Fall  from  the  lips  of  those  your  deeds  have  blest. 

Rest,  mother,  rest,  your  loving  words  shall  linger 

To  soothe  and  guide  us  through  the  coming  years, 
'Till  God  shall  touch  with  His  eternal  finger, 

And  turn  to  joy  the  fountain  of  our  tears. 
Oh,  mother,  when  at  holy  evening  hours 

The  stars  look  down  from  out  the  sky  of  blue, 
And  dewdrops  tremble  on  the  sleeping  flowers, 

With  reverence  then  our  thoughts  shall  turn  to  you. 

Rest,  mother,  rest,  your  cross  is  wreathed  in  roses — 
No  brighter  joy  to  child  of  earth  is  given, 

For  while  in  sleep  your  precious  form  reposes, 
Your  spirit  wakes  to  nobler  life  in  Heaven. 

Oh,  gentle  south-wind,  touch  the  chords  of  sweetness 
With  tender  measure  of  an  artist's  hand — 


—  25  — 

Round  mother's  grave  let  music's  full  completeness 
Echo  above  to  Heaven's  sweet  summer  land. 

Rest,  mother,  rest,  we  love  thee  now  as  ever, 

And  though  with  care  our  souls  may  be  opprest, 
Not  even  death  a  mother's  love  can  sever — 

Life's  dearest  friend,  divinest,  purest,  best. 
While  by  your  grave  we  kneel  with  strong  emotion, 

And  breathe  our  earnest  benedictions  there, 
We  know  that,  when  across  life's  troubled  ocean, 

We'll  meet  again  in  answer  to  our  prayer. 


SWEET  VALE  OF  CONNOTTON. 


[The  home  of  the  author  was  for  many  years  in  the  Connotton  valley, 
in  eastern  Ohio,  and  through  which  flows  Connotton  creek,  whose 
waters  move  so  slowly  as  to  leave  scarcely  a  ripple  upon  the  sur 
face,  excepting  in  time  of  heavy  rains  along  the  valley,  when  it 
overflows  Us  banks  and  assumes  the  dignity  of  a  river.  The 
scenery  is  perfectly  charming.] 


Sweet  vale  of  Connotton, 

Ever  dear  to  my  soul ; 
Where  the  soft  sunshine  plays 

And  thy  calm  waters  roll  ; 
Others  sing  of  the  power 

Of  the  proud  rolling  sea  ; 
But  sweet  vale  of  Connotton 

Thou  art  heaven  to  me. 


—  26  — 

Here  the  robin  trills  songs 

To  the  birds  in  her  nest, 
And  with  tender  caresses 

She  soothes  them  to  rest, 
Then  she  sings  to  her  mate 

From  the  juniper  tree  ; 
While  sweet  vale  of  Connotton 

Thou  art  heaven  to  me. 

Ever  quietly  onward 

Thy  calm  river  flows  ; 
With  a  smile  on  its  bosom, 

Of  tranquil  repose, 
And  dreaming  beside  thee 

My  spirit  is  free  ; 
For  sweet  vale  of  Connotton 

Thou  art  heaven  to  me. 

If  from  thee,  loved  valley, 

My  footsteps  should  stray, 
And  with  strangers  around  me 

Find  a  home  far  away  ; 
Bright  and  green  in  loved  memory 

Shall  thy  scenes  ever  be — 
For  sweet  vale  of  Connotton 

Thou  art  heaven  to  me. 


—  27  — 

CROCUS. 

This  morning  beside  my  window 
I  heard  a  voice  strangely  complete; 

A  robin  was  calling  her  lover 

In  words  that  were  thrillingly  sweet, 

O'er-charmed  by  the  voice  of  the  singer, 
I  reverently  bowed  my  head  low, 

When,  behold  !  a  dark-eyed  little  crocus 
Was  peeping  from  under  the  snow. 

I  caught  up  the  fresh  little  beauty, 
But  deep  in  its  pure  heart  of  gold 

I  knew  its  young  life  held  a  sorrow 
Which  had  not  as  yet  been  told. 

For  when  I  pressed  fondly  its  bosom, 
And  looked  in  its  heavenly  eyes, 

The  delicate  blossom  was  weeping, 
I  found  to  my  tearful  surprise. 

I  asked  of  the  Crocus,  sincerely, 

•''  What  giveth  your  young  heart  pain  ? 

The  roses  that  sleep  close  beside  you 
Are  striving  to  waken,  in  vain. 

You,  of  all  the  fair  flowers  of  my  garden, 
Have  heard  the  sweet  songs  of  the  spring, 

And  thus  to  be  favored,  believe  me, 
Is  not  such  a  vain  little  thing." 


The  Crocus  half  folded  its  petals — 
Thus  shading  its  eyes  of  dark  blue — 

And  modestly  answered,  "  My  story 
Of  sorrow,  I'll  now  give  to  you. 

I  know  that  the  Crocus  is  favored, 
To  hear  the  first  robin's  love  song, 

And  to  hear  the  light  feet  of  the  south-wind 
As  softly  it  dances  along ; 

But  through  all  the  long  lineage  of  Crocus 

It  ever  has  been  our  sad  lot, 
That  when  roses  and  lilies  were  blooming 

The  Crocus  was  always  forgot." 

Ah,  thus  it  has  been  and  is  ever, 
We  constantly  languish  and  sigh 

For  some  unattainable  blessing, 
Refusing  the  blessing  that's  nigh  ; 

And  thus  a  most  excellent  lesson, 

I  never  before  could  know, 
I  have  learned  from  a  plain  little  Crocus 

Just  peeping  from  under  the  snow. 


IF  WE  COULD  KNOW. 


If  we  could  know  how  many  years  of  life, 
Where  thorns  are  growing  'mid  the  fitful  strife, 
Our  tired  feet  must  walk  the  weary  road 


—  29  - 

That  leads  the  pilgrim  to  the  unknown  abode 
Beyond  the  frontier — oh,  if  we  could  know. 

If  we  could  lift  the  veil  and  bring  to  view 
The  hidden  page,  and  read  its  mysteries  through- 
Though  we  were  wiser  for  the  knowledge  gained, 
Would  we  be  happier  for  the  wish  attained  ? 
If  we  could  know — ah  !  yes,  if  we  could  know. 

If  we  could  know  why,  in  the  mystic  past 
Joy  was  a  dream,  too  bright  and  fair  to  last, 
And  hope  a  phantom,  mocking  all  the  while 
She  beckoned  us,  with  weird  enchanting  smile ; 
Then  left  us  sorrowing  in  the  vale  below. 

If  we  could  know  where  want  and  woe  abide, 
And  pain  is  constant  at  the  mourner's  side, 
Would  we  make  haste  to  dry  the  sufferer's  tears 
And  smooth  the  pathway  of  the  coming  years, 
Whispering  sweet  consolation  soft  and  low? 

This  we  can  know — we  have  a  work  to  do, 
Though  mercy  hides  the  future  from  our  view. 
Behold  the  stars  around  the  crescent  rise 
To  brighten  earth  with  splendor  from  the  skies, 
Veiling  their  faces  when  the  storm  winds  blow. 

The  past  to  us  a  faithful  lesson  proves 
That  while  the  green  earth  in  her  circle  moves, 
Joy,  hope  and  pain  shall  journey  hand  in  hand 
With  faith,  the  harbor  of  the  heavenly  land. 
There  we  shall  know — in  glory  we  shall  know. 


_  3o- 
JONQUIL. 

Just  as  the  voice  of  the  robin,  clear 

Warbles  the  welcome  song  "spring  is  here ;  " 

Bright  little  jonquil  in  sweet  surprise 

You  peep  through  the  snow  with  your  dreaming  eyes. 

In  your  heart  of  hearts,  do  the  pulse  waves  swell 

As  the  music  floats  from  your  golden  bell  ? 

Is  there  never  a  heart  throb,  never  a  sigh 

As  you  glance  from  the  earth  to  the  far  off  sky  ? 

Deep  down  in  your  bosom  to  me  would  seem 
A  magical  throne  for  a  fairy  queen  ; 
Where  with  the  soft  touch  of  her  delicate  hand 
She  could  bless  all  the  flowers  in  her  fairy  land. 
How  pure  is  the  life  you  so  briefly  live — 
For  you  ask  not  a  joy  for  the  joy  you  give — 
While  you  scatter  your  jewels  so  rich  and  rare 
Through  your  kingdom  of  love,  which  is  everywhere. 

Oh  !  dear  little  jonquil  you  speak  to  me 
Of  the  possible  hopes  that  are  yet  to  be ; 
For  out  in  the  storm  where  the  clouds  drop  low 
You  smile  through  the  flakes  of  enchanted  snow. 
What  cared  you  for  the  rain  or  the  winter's  cold 
As  you  calmly  unfolded  your  frill  of  gold ; 
Then  brushing  the  clouds  from  your  shining  hair 
You  bowed  to  the  world  from  your  golden  chair. 


-31- 

Svveet  flower  so  humble  and  yet  so  grand, 
'Tis  well  to  know  you  and  understand 
That  modest  worth  though  it  hide  away 
From  the  glory  and  pomp  of  life's  summer  day ; 
Is  the  first  to  come,  when  the  wintry  pall 
Of  sorrow  and  storm-clouds  around  us  fall ; 
And  brighten  our  lives  with  the  soft  sunshine 
And  the  tender  memories  of  sweet  spring  time. 


PRETTY  LITTLE  MAIDEN. 


SONG. 

Maiden,  I  would  speak  to  thee. 

Pretty  little  maiden, 
On  the  threshold  of  thy  life, 

Arms  with  roses  laden  ; 
All  day  long  gathering  fairest  flowers, 
Dreaming  not  of  pain  nor  care 

In  this  world  of  ours. 

Maiden,  I  would  tell  thee  now 
Of  approaching  danger — 

Do  not  listen  to  a  vow 

Spoken  by  a  stranger. 

Blue-eyed  maid,  fairer  than  the  roses, 
On  thy  tender,  blushing  cheek 
Innocence  reposes. 


-  32  — 

Men  will  worship  at  thy  shrine — 
Maiden  dear,  believe  me — 

Calling  thee  by  names  divine, 
Only  to  deceive  thee. 

Turn  away,  all  their  praises  scorning 

From  the  gay  deceiver's  smile — 

Listen  to  my  warning. 

Maiden,  I  would  say  "  good-bye  ;  " 

May  no  ill  betide  thee. 
Should  the  tempter's  power  be  nigh 

Holy  angels  guide  thee, 
Safe  from  harm,  pure  as  morning  flowers, 
Dreaming  not  of  pain  nor  care 

In  this  world  of  ours. 


OUR  SILVER  WEDDING  SONG. 


[Kindly  inscribed  to  Hon.  J.  L.  McCreery  and  Mrs.  McCreery,  Wash 
ington,  D.  C.,  on  the  occasion  of  their  Silver  Wedding.] 


Just  tive-and-twenty  years  ago 
Our  lives  were  joined  together, 

To  walk  through  life's  mysterious  paths 
In  calm  and  stormy  weather ; 

O'er  mountain  heights  and  forest  glade, 

With  roses  blooming  in  the  shade. 


-33  — 

Your  eyes  so  gentle,  yet  so  bright, 

So  blissful  in  their  seeming, 
Were  full  of  heaven's  diviner  light, 

Like  meadow  violets  dreaming ; 
Your  lips,  like  cherries  ripe  and  red, 

So  pure  in  their  caressing, 
Inspired  with  every  word  you  said 

New  beauty  with  a  blessing. 

Your  cheeks  were  like  the  nectarine 
When  summer  sunset  flushes 

The  landscape  with  a  crimson  sheen- 
It  drops  its  head  and  blushes. 

Your  smile  was  like  the  golden  ray 
That  flashes  from  love's  quiver, 

And  brightened  every  passing  day 
With  hopes  that  live  forever. 

Your  voice,  my  love,  was  music  sweet, 

My  trusting  soul  entrancing, 
As  when  the  brooklet's  joyful  feet 

Goes  o'er  the  meadow  dancing; 
But  autumn  time  has  only  touched 

Your  brow  with  dainty  fingers, 
For  with  a  pure  and  hallowed  light 

The  summer  sunset  lingers. 

My  darling,  though  the  faded  years 
Were  blent  with  joy  and  sorrow, 

The  days  that  brought  us  passing  tears 

Brought  sunshine  for  the  morrow. 
3 


—  34- 

And  when  one  darling  from  the  nest 
Fled  up  to  heaven's  fair  bowers, 

Two  blushing  buds  were  fondly  press' d 
Upon  these  hearts  of  ours. 

And  while  our  silver  wedding  bells 

Without  are  gaily  ringing, 
The  dear  old  songs  that  memory  tells 

Our  loving  hearts  are  singing. 
With  you,  my  love,  my  future  hope 

Of  happiness  reposes- ; 
For  you  have  made  life's  darkest  path 

A  very  path  of  roses. 


MORNING,  NOON,  AND  NIGHT. 


In  the  morning  I  gathered  fresh  flowers 

On  the  shore  of  a  crimson  sea, 
When  beside  me  there  came  a  fairy  form 

And  whispered  sweet  words  to  me ; 
And  the  music  of  hope  filled  the  morning  air, 
While  joy  with  its  blessings  was  everywhere. 

But  with  pain  I  am  now  toiling  on, 
My  tasks  growing  harder  each  day, 

And  I  toss  my  sweet  flowers  in  the  dreamy  sea 
And  with  tears  see  them  drifting  away. 


—•35- 

Ah,  why  have  my  hopes  fled  away  so  soon, 
While  yet  it  is  only  the  hour  of  noon. 

It  is  night,  and  the  golden  stars 
Slowly  rise  on  the  amber  shore ; 

And  I  know  I  am  nearer  to  Heaven  now 
Than  I  ever  was  before. 

And  though  summer  fades  and  the  winters  go 

The  world  is  the  whiter  for  winter's  snow. 


I  AM  TRUSTING  IN  GOD. 


I  am  trusting  in  God, 

And  I  see  the  land  of  glory ; 
I  hear  the  angels  singing  from  afar ; 
The  words  that  they  sing  are  the  well -remembered  story 
Of  how  the  heavenly  gates  were  left  ajar. 
I  know  my  Redeemer  is  waiting  to  receive  me, 
And  the  day  of  my  rejoicing  is  begun, 
For  I  hear  a  sweet  voice  saying  "trusting  soul,  believe  me, 
And  the  work  of  your  salvation  is  begun." 

I  am  trusting  in  God, 

And  I  see  the  silent  river ; 
I  know  the  ship  of  Death  is  sailing  near ; 
But  the  love  of  my  Saviour  shall  bear  me  on  forever, 
And  my  happy  soul  has  nothing  ill  to  fear ; 


-36- 

Above  me  I  hear  precious  voices  sweetly  singing, 
Loving  spirits  are  around  me  everywhere  ; 
Sweet  and  sweeter  the  music  that  in  my  soul  is  ringing, 
And  they  tell  me  I  shall  meet  them  over  there. 

I  am  trusting  in  God, 
For  I  know  that  pain  and  sorrow 
And  the  weary,  weary  toiling  of  to-day — 
Shall  be  lost  in  the  brightness  of  Heaven's  grand  to-mor 
row, 

When  the  Master's  hand  shall  wipe  our  tears  away. 
All  around  is  the  splendor  of  angels  in  the  chorus ; 
On  the  shore,  see  the  shining  armies  stand, 
Of  the  friends  who  have  conquered  and  only  gone  before  us 
To  their  rest  in  the  happy  Beulah  land. 

I  am  trusting  in  God ; 

Friends  farewell,  but  not  forever. 
Dearest  mother,  though  our  parting  gives  you  pain, 
Far  beyond  the  blue  sky,  where  no  earthly  hand  can  sever, 
We  shall  meet,  and  to  never  part  again. 
Precious  mother,  your  love  like  a  holy  benediction, 
Hath  so  oft  given  my  fainting  spirit  rest, 
And  I  know  that  the  Lord  will  sustain  you  in  affliction, 
Till  you  enter  in  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 


-37- 
HIS  FOOTSTEP  AT  THE  DOOR. 


[Music  by  Kimball;  published  by  S.  Brainard's  Sons.] 


I  am  waiting,  I  am  waiting, 

Fondly  waiting  for  my  sweet, 
Where  the  evening  shadows  gather 

For  the  coming  of  his  feet ; 
Where  daisies  white  are  blooming,        x . 

Like  drifts  of  scented  snow, 
Where  my  darling  knelt  beside  me 

In  the  years  of  long  ago. 

In  my  soul  his  kisses  linger, 

With  his  voice  so  sweet  and  low, 
And  the  fond  "  good-bye  "  he  whispered 

When  he  told  me  he  must  go. 
Will  the  holy  angels  guard  him 

As  they  never  did  before  ! 
While  alone  I  wait  the  coming 

Of  his  footstep  at  the  door. 

May  my  prayers  to  Heaven  ascending, 

Hopeful,  trusting,  pure  and  true, 
Bring  to  him  a  benediction 

Gentle  as  the  falling  dew ; 
And  the  white  sail  proudly  gleaming 

Out  upon  Love's  shimmering  sea, 
In  kind  answer  to  my  pleading, 

Bring  my  darling  back  to  me. 


-38- 

DAFFODIL. 


Fragrant  little  blossom 

Blooming  all  alone ; 
Greeting  me  with  gladness, 

Darling  little  one  : 
Near  thy  velvet  pillow 

Angel  feet  have  trod, 
And  thy  form  was  fashioned 

By  the  hand  of  God. 

Envious  little  blossom, 

Thus  I  hear  you  say — 
"Why  was  I  created 

In  this  plain  array  ? 
For  I  hear  the  robins 

Laughing  as  they  trill, 
'  Though  an  early  blossom 

'Tisbuta  daffodil." 

Darling  little  blossom, 

Beauty,  love  and  grace 
Are 'not  always  blended 

In  a  handsome  face; 
Each  one  has  a  station 

He  may  nobly  fill ; 
Though  it  may  be  lowly 

As  the  daffodil. 


—  39- 
MY  LITTLE  SON  AND  I. 


The  sun  on  the  eastern  hill-tops 

Is  pouring  a  golden  flood, 
While  evening  with  smiles  advances, 

A  queen  in  her  purple  robe. 
We  rest  in  the  flaming  splendor 

Dreamily  watching  the  sky, 
And  our  souls  are  'rapt  in  the  glory, 

My  little  son  and  I. 

Higher  the  crimson  rises 

Brighter  the  flames  of  gold ; 
In  vain  would  my  soul  describe  them, 

Such  grandeur  can  ne'er  be  told. 
For  only  the  hand  of  an  angel 

Could  paint  on  the  sapphire  sky 
Those  tints  that  entrance  with  their  beauty 

My  little  son  and  I. 

But  the  robe  of  the  evening  is  fading, 

And  hushed  is  the  day-bird's  song, 
While  whippoorwill  in  the  gloaming 

His  sorrowful  notes  prolong. 
Yet  around  us  is  floating  a  splendor, 

For  we  know  that  e'en  heaven  is  nigh, 
And  we  fold  to  our  hearts  each  other, 

My  little  son  and  I. 


WE  SILENTLY  SLUMBER  AT  LAST. 


This  life  is  a  fanciful  stage  of  commotion, 

A  dream  that  is  faded  and  past ; 
A  voyage  soon  made  o'er  a  storm  troubled  ocean 

Then  we  silently  slumber  at  last ; 
We  slumber  at  last,  we  slumber  at  last, 

\Ve  silently  slumber  at  last. 

From  day  unto  day  souls  grown  weary  with  pleading 
Have  mourned  for  the  hours  that  are  past ; 

But  the  poor  wounded  heart,  over  weak  from  its  bleeding, 
Shall  silently  slumber  at  last, 

Shall  slumber  at  last,  shall  slumber  at  last ; 
Shall  silently  slumber  at  last. 

Then  how  can  we  scornfully  jostle  each  other, 

Or  withhold  love's  endearing  repast, 
When  the  people  we  meet,  be  they  stranger  or  brother, 

Shall  silently  slumber  at  last ; 
Shall  slumber  at  last,  shall  slumber  at  last ; 

Shall  silently  slumber  at  last. 

Oh,  then  let  us  give  from  love's  ocean  of  sweetness, 

Forgetting  all  wrongs  of  the  past, 
Such  gems  as  will  bring  to  us  heaven's  completeness 

When  we  silently  slumber  at  last ; 
When  we  slumber  at  last,  when  we  slumber  at  last, 

When  we  silently  slumber  at  last. 


—  41  — 
PRETTY  ROBIN-REDBREAST. 


[Published  in  sheet-music  form  by  Annie  Pixley,  with  a  picture 
of  Miss  Pixley  on  title  page.] 


Pretty  robin -redbreast 

Near  my  cottage  door ; 
Asking  for  a  crumb  of  bread — 

This,  and  nothing  more. 
In  your  sweet  contentment, 

Singing  me  a  song, 
Where  have  you  been  wandering 

All  the  winter  long  ? 

In  the  maple  branches; 

Where  the  daisies  grow  ; 
Where  the  dancing  streamlet 

Murmurs  in  its  flow  ; 
Have  you  little  birdlets 

In  a  downy  nest, 
Waiting  to  be  folded 
To  their  mother's  breast? 

Pretty  robin-redbreast, 

Darling  little  friend, 
Should  a  note  of  sorrow 

With  your  music  blend  ; 
Will  you  not  remember — 

Though  you  sadly  sing — 
Joy  attuned  to  sadness 

Is  a  precious  thing. 


—  42  — 

Pretty  robin-redbreast, 

Sing  your  sweet  refrain  ; 
Bringing  dreams  of  summer  time 

Back  to  me  again  ; 
June  with  roses  laden, 

Fields  of  yellow  wheat, 
Rich  with  summer  sweetness, 

Gathered  at  my  feet. 


FROZEN. 


I  gathered  some  plants  with  a  tender  hand, 
They  were  gorgeous  as  those  of  a  tropical  land. 
Their  censers  all  laden  with  rich  perfume. 
I  placed  them  in  pots ;  for  a  friend  had  said, 
"  If  tenderly  nursed  they  will  live,  and  shed 
Rich  volumes  of  fragrance,  to  cheer  the  gloom 
Of  the  winter  days  in  your  quiet  room." 

An  artisan  came  with  a  magic  hand 

And  traced  on  my  window  panes  fairy  land — 

Gleaming  lakes  of  silver,  and  mountains  of  snow. 

He  labored  hard — the  wily  old  wight — 

To  build  up  such  grandeur  in  one  short  night ; 

Then  he  told  my  green  plants  that  he  loved  them  so 

And  said  "  kiss  me  good-bye  before  I  go." 


—  43  — 

Morning  arose  and  bright  billows  of  gold 
O'er  hill-top,  meadow  and  streamlet  rolled ; 
Through  curtains  of  amber  and  crimson  they  shed 
Soft  roseate  tints  ;  a  warm  summer  glow 
That  strangely  contrasted  with  winter's  snow, 
But  my  plants  were  frozen,  their  beauty  had  fled, 
And  all,  save  one  little  rose  tree  was  dead. 

Thus  many  fond  hearts,  by  false  love  beguiled, 
Are  drooping  and  fading  in  anguish  wild  ; 
And  no  smile  of  morn,  nor  crimson  bright, 
Can  bring  to  their  faded  cheeks  the  light 
Of  other  days, — but  still  lives  for  me 
In  its  blushing  beauty,  my  fair  rose  tree. 


REST. 


There  is  rest  for  the  weary  one 

Rest  for  the  meek  ; 
There  is  rest  near  the  setting  sun 

Rest  for  the  weak. 
There  is  rest  for  the  troubled  heart 

Rest  for  the  soul ; 
Gilead's  precious  balm 

Maketh  us  whole. 


-44  — 

There  is  rest  where  good  angels  sing 

All  the  day  long  ; 
Where  the  friends  we  so  dearly  love 

Join  in  the  song. 
There  is  rest  where  the  aching  heart 

Knoweth  no  pain — 
Where  voices  of  darling  ones 

Greet  us  again. 

Then  go  to  the  Blessed  One — 

Lean  on  His  breast ; 
Cast  your  burden  of  care  on  Him 

Who  promises  rest. 
Kindly  He  pities  you — 

Weeps  when  you  weep, 
And  when  life's  tasks  are  done 

Giveth  sweet  sleep. 


AUTUMN  GLORY. 


October  waves  a  proud  farewell 

With  trailing  robes  of  crimson  splendor, 
And  presses  with  her  jeweled  hand 

The  trembling  hand  of  chill  November, 
Then  bending  closer,  whispers  low, 

In  words  of  more  than  summer  sweetness, 
Behold  !    the  promise  of  the  land 

Now  garnered  in  its  full  completeness  ! 


—  45  — 

White  curtains  drape  the  western  sky, 

Embroidered  with  the  gold  of  heaven, 
While  from  the  amber-tinted  folds 

A  balmy  breeze  is  softly  driven. 
A  robin  sings  a  parting  song, 

And  sets  the  wooded  hills  a-ringing, 
While  from  the  trellis  at  the  door 

The  jasmine  bells  are  gently  swinging. 

Tall  spikes  of  feathered  golden-rod 

Are  pointing  with  their  jeweled  fingers, 
Across  the  emerald  fields  of  wheat, 

Where  the  rich  kiss  of  summer  lingers. 
The  sun  looks  on  with  raptured  gaze, 

And  like  a  fond,  devoted  lover, 
He  kisses  with  impassioned  grace 

The  blushes  from  late  blooms  of  clover. 

Now  comes  the  blissful  Hallowe'en 

When  holly-branch,  a  gift  possessing, 
Reveals  the  future  yet  to  be, — 

Endowing  life  with  every  blessing. 
The  blushing  maid,  with  guileless  heart, 

Turns  pale  with  transport  to  discover 
Reflected  in  her  looking-glass, 

The  features  of  her  own  true  lover. 

Pale  violets  down  beneath  the  sod 

Have  closed  their  eyes  so  sweetly  tender, 

To  dream  of  a  returning  spring 
Regardless  of  a  bleak  November. 


Nature,  still  truthful  to  the  last, 
Confirms  the  oft-repeated  story, 

That  splendor  of  the  summer  time 

Can  ne'er  compare  with  autumn  glory. 


OHIO. 


Ohio,  I  love  thee,  for  deeds  thou  has  done ; 

Thy  conflicts  recorded  and  victories  won  ; 

On  the  pages  of  history,  beaming  and  bright, 

Ohio  shines  forth  like  a  star  in  the  night. 

Like  a  star  flashing  out  o'er  the  mountain's  bine  crest, 

Lighting  up  with  its  glory  the  land  of  the  west ; 

For  thy  step  onward  marching  and  voice  to  command, 

Ohio,  I  love  thee,  thou  beautiful  land. 

Commonwealth  grandly  rising  in  majesty  tall — 
In  the  girdle  of  beauty  the  fairest  of  all. 
Tho'  thunders  of  nations  around  thee  may  roar — 
Their  strong  tidal  waves  dash  and  break  on  thy  shore- 
Standing  prouder  and  firmer  when  danger  is  nigh, 
With  a  power  to  endure  and  an  arm  to  defy; 
Ohio  shall  spread  her  broad  wings  to  the  world, 
Her  bugles  resounding  and  banners  unfurled. 


-47  — 

A  queen  in  her  dignity,  proudly  she  stands, 
Reaching  out  to  her  sister  states  wealth-laden  hands. 
Crovvn'd  with  plentiful  harvests  and  fruit  from  the  vine, 
And  riches  increasing  in  ores  from  the  mine. 
While  with  Liberty's  banner  unfurled  to  the  sky — 
Resolved  for  the  UNION  to  do  or  to  die — 
Her  soldiers  and  statesmen  unflinchingly  come, 
'Mid  booming  of  cannon  and  roll  of  the  drum. 

To  glory  still  onward,  we're  marching  along, 
Ev'ry  heart  true  and  noble  re-echoes  the  song, 
Ever  pledged  to  each  other,  through  years  that  have  fled, 
We  have  hopes  for  the  living,  and  tears  for  the  dead. 
Bless  the  heroes  who  suffered,  but  died  not  in  vain  ; 
Keep  the  flag  that  we  love — without  tarnish  or  stain. 
Thus  uniting  with  all,  shall  my  song  ever  be 
Ohio,  my  home-land,  my  heart  clings  to  thee ! 


COME  WHERE  THE  FLOWERS  LIE  SLEEPING. 


Come  where  the  flowers  lie  sleeping 

Down  in  their  crystal  beds  ; 
Come  where  the  shy  little  violets 

Are  resting  there  weary  heads. 
Come  in  the  early  morning, 

Come  in  the  fading  gray, 
Come  where  the  painted  rose-tints 

Reveal  the  sweet  smiles  of  day. 


—  48  — 

Come  in  the  golden  noontide ; 

Pause  where  the  blossoms  sleep ; 
Dreaming  of  last  year's  blushes, 

And  the  tears  that  e'en  flowers  must  weep. 
Hope  for  the  coming  springtime 

With  its  incense  of  fragrant  dew, 
When  winter  shall  drop  its  mantle 

And  bring  the  fresh  flowers  to  view. 

Come  in  the  hush  of  evening — 

Come  with  a  noiseless  tread ; 
Whisper  of  loving  caresses 

Oft-given  the  flowers  we  call  dead. 
For  soon  shall  the  birds  in  the  branches 

Awaken  with  musical  trill, 
The  eyes  of  each  delicate  blossom 

Whose  pulses  of  life  are  still. 

Come  when  the  heart  in  its  anguish 

Bleeds  for  the  dearest  and  best, 
Who  faded  when  summer  was  fading 

Arid  folded  her  pure  hands  to  rest. 
Turn  to  the  beautiful  city — 

Oh,  there,  let  your  anguish'd  soul  rise, 
Where  the  fair  flower,  your  loving  heart  cherished, 

Wakes  to  life  in  the  heavenly  skies. 


—  49  — 


FOR  ME,  SWEET  BIRDS. 


While  nature  pours  its  choicest  gifts 

Into  the  lap  of  June, 
And  flowers  awakened  at  her  voice 

Come  laden  with  perfume; 
Oh,  sing  your  songs  for  me,  sweet  birds, 

Your  tender,  trusting,  loving  words, 
Whose  music  thrills  my  soul  with  joy, 

Light-hearted,  happy  birds. 

Your  mystic  rhymes  of  ecstasy, 

Fall  softly  on  my  ear ; 
They  tell  me  winter's  power  is  past 

And  summer  now  is  here. 
Oh,  sing  your  songs  for  me,  sweet  birds, 

There's  magic  in  your  loving  words, 
And  summer  would  not  summer  be 

Without  your  songs,  sweet  birds. 

You  bear  me  back  to  childhood's  hours, 

Those  long  departed  years, 
And  though  I  love  to  hear  your  songs, 

My  eyes  grow  dim  with  tears. 
But  tears  are  hallowed  mysteries 

Our  lives  would  fain  conceal, 
And  thus  your  soul-enchanting  words 

Oft  dearest  hopes  reveal. 
4 


—  5°  — 
THERE  IS  A  DIFFERENCE. 


There  is  a  difference,  though  the  sun's  bright  rays 

Shine  on  the  just  and  unjust  alike, 
And  unto  each  are  given  equal  days, 

Still  we  divine  not  Heaven's  mysterious  ways. 

There  is  a  difference,  oft  vainly  the  good  may  toil 
To  give  beloved  ones  comfort,  and  sweet  rest ; 

Remorseless  penury  may  like  a  serpent  coil 
And  blighting  weeds  o'ergrow  the  fertile  soil. 

There  is  a  difference,  virtue  so  often  blamed 
Shrinks  from  the  heartless  gaze  of  cruel  scorn, 

While  laurels  and  glad  songs  have  oft  proclaimed 
Honors  all  undeserved  to  those  who  attained. 

The  unjust  man,  with  intellectual  power 

May  classify  the  stars  and  call  their  names,  . 

Unfolding  each  bright  page  of  hidden  lore 
While  rustics  wonder  all  the  more  and  more. 

But  he  may  languish  on  a  couch  of  pain, 

His  friends  dark-eyed  Remorse  and  fierce  Despair, 

His  sins  upon  him  like  a  withering  flame — 

Heaven's  birthright  sold,  for  greed  of  earthly  gain. 

Repine  not  faithful  soul,  by  care  oppressed, 
Hard  is  the  battle — but  soon  victory  won 

Shall  blazon  thy  banners.     Heaven's  imperial  crest 
Shall  point  the  way  to  God's  eternal  rest. 


EMANCIPATION  DAY. 


£Read  by  Milton  Holland  at  the  Emancipation  Banquet,  Washington, 
D.  C.,  April  1 3th,  1883.] 


Sound  aloud  the  trump  of  freedom, 

Let  the  answering  echo  ring, 

While  with  liberty  commanding, 

We  our  heartfelt  tribute  bring ; 

As  we  gather  round  Columbia, 

Let  us  scatter  on  the  way 

Flowers  of  love  and  flowers  of  trusting, 

For  Emancipation  Day. 

Let  us  pray  for  benedictions 

While  we  bow  in  reverence  low 

At  the  shrine  of  noble  heroes, 

Bravely  charging  on  the  foe. 

Gladly  we  hear  our  welcome, 

To  this  feast  of  Liberty. 

WELCOME. 

Lo,  the  car  of  progress  moving, 
Over  all  Columbia's  land ; 
Gifted  men  are  proudly  coming 
And  we  take  them  by  the  hand — 
Men  of  different  race  and  color, 
Yet  our  peers  in  soul  and  brain, 
And  their  names  shall  soon  be  sculptured 
On  the  towering  dome  of  fame. 


-52- 

Float  aloft  the  stars  of  glory, 
For  we  love  to  tell  the  story 
That  is  written  on  the  pages 
Of  Columbia's  record  true ; 
How  amid  the  cannon's  rattle, 
And  the  shot  and  shell  of  battle, 
Chains  of  living  death  were  broken 
By  our  gallant  boys  in  blue  ! 

Ah !  our  soldiers  never  faltered  ; 
Never  heeded  they  the  gloom ; 
Quailed  not  when  the  shock  of  battle 
Seemed  the  eternal  knell  of  doom ; 
But  with  comrades  pale  and  bleeding 
Only  heard  Columbia  pleading — 
"  Wipe  away  from  my  escutcheon 
Every  trace  of  human  woe. 
Let  my  rightful  sons  and  daughters 
Of  whatever  race  they  be, 
Hear  the  clarion  voice  of  heroes, 
Making  way  for  liberty. 

Let  no  cloud  of  dark  oppression 
Linger  in  Columbia's  sky  ; 
Let  the  joyful  shout  of  freedom 
Rise  aloft  to  God  on  high  !  " 

Days  were  dark  and  fierce  the  struggle- 
Can  it  be  the  day  is  lost  ? 


—  53- 

Came  from  many  an  anguished  mother, 

As  she  reckoned  up  the  cost 

Of  the  blood  and  of  the  treasure, 

Given  freely  without  measure, 

As  the  price  of  liberty. 

But  amid  the  desolation, 
Spreading  o'er  our  glorious  land 
Came  the  news — Emancipation 
Has  been  reached — the  proclamation, 
Far  above  the  cannon's  roar 
Sounded  loud,  o'er  hill  and  valley 
Bells  were  ringing,  hearts  were  singing, 
As  they  never  sung  before. 

For  the  shackels  had  been  broken, 
And  four  million  souls  were  free, 
That  'till  then  had  never  tasted 
Of  the  joys  of  liberty  ! 
And  to-day  we  gladly  greet  them, 
As  we  gather  'round  to  meet  them, 
And  to  take  them  by  the  hand — 
Men  whose  throbbing  souls  ignited 
At  the  watch-fires  freedom  lighted. 
Freedom's  altar  fires,  still  burning 
Flash  and  sparkle  at  each  turning, 
As  the  car  of  progress  moving, 
Rolls  them  on  to  nobler  fame. 


—  54- 


A  WINTER  DAY. 


Beside  my  cottage,  in  their  towering  height, 

Rise  purple  hills,  crowned  with  a  sunset  light ; 

Kissed  by  a  breath  of  such  peculiar  sweetness 

That  heaven  bows  down,  in  all  its  grand  completeness. 

The  western  sky  is  flecked  with  drops  of  gold — 

Richer  by  far  than  poet's  song  has  told — 

In  vain  a  painter's  art  would  dare  portray 

The  glowing  splendor  of  the  closing  day. 

But  ah !  the  trees  in  seeming  desolation, 

Lift  up  their  hands  in  feeble  supplication ; 

Yet  with  the  prayer  this  hopeful  thought  is  blended — 

"To  us,  the  day  of  beauty  is  not  ended  ; 

Though  from  our  arms  the  whispering  leaves  are  fled 

Within  our  hearts  the  life-power  is  not  dead ; 

Soon  from  our  branches  shall  the  wild  birds  sing 

Amid  the  foliage  of  the  coming  spring." 

Ever  thus,  our  souls  so  subject  to  temptation, 
We  gladly  know  are  not  our  own  creation. 
Though  ruthless  hands  our  dearest  joys  may  sever — 
Trusting  in  God  we  shall  not  fail,  no  never. 
And  should  we  work  through  years  of  vain  endeavor 
The  victor's  wreath  shall  crown  the  bright  forever, 
And  hopes  that  now  lie  faded  at  our  feet 
Shall  bloom  again,  in  endless  fragrance  sweet. 


—  55  — 
MY  LOVE  OF  LONG  AGO. 


[Music  by  Bischoff,  published  by  John  Church  &  Co.  ] 


Down  by  the  silvery  sea  to-night 

The  sky  is  all  aglow, 
And  crowned  by  evening's  golden  light 

The  sparkling  breakers  flow ; 
And  I  am  waiting  for  my  love — 

As  dear  as  life  can  be — 
Oh,  winds  that  float  from  heaven  above, 

Pray  bring  him  back  to  me. 

'Twas  down  beside  the  silvery  sea 

On  that  sweet  summer  day, 
My  lover  pledged  his  vows  to  me, 

And  then  he  sailed  away. 
Ah,  I  have  waited  through  the  years, 

And  watched  the  sails  go  by, 
And  cherished  hopes  with  all  my  tears, 

But  yet,  no  ship  is  nigh. 

Oh,  sweet  south-wind  beside  the  sea, 

I  ask  this  boon  of  you, 
Go  tell  my  lover  this  for  me — 

That  still  my  heart  is  true. 
And  may  the  holy  angels  guide 

His  steps  where'er  they  go, 
And  Heaven  grant  no  ill  betide 

My  love  of  long  ago. 


-56- 
MY  LOVE  IS  TRUE  TO  ME. 


ANSWER   TO    MY    LOVE   OF    LONG   AGO. 


SONG. 
My  darling  I  have  heard  your  song 

And  know  your  prayers  for  me, 
And  know  that  you  have  waited  long 

And  watched  beside  the  sea. 
And  while  my  barque  is  sailing  home 

Bright,  with  its  freight  of  gold, 
Your  voice  of  love  that  bids  me  come 

Is  more  a  thousand  fold. 

Your  love  has  been  my  guiding  star 

Though  clouds  might  intervene  ; 
It  whispers  softly  from  afar, 

As  meadow  violets  dream. 
And  though  I  sail  the  stormy  sea, 

My  soul  is  all  for  you — 
What  greater  joy  of  earth  can  be 

When  you  my  love  are  true  ? 

Soon  'neath  the  glowing  western  sky, 

We'll  anchor  in  the  bay, 
And  then  with  joy  my  love  and  I 

Shall  name  the  happy  day. 
With  memory's  golden  chain  secure, 

My  darling's  life  shall  know, 
My  vows  of  love  and  faith  are  pure 

As  in  the  long  ago. 


57 
A    REVERIE. 


[Dedicated  to  Welch  Post,  G.  A.  R.,  Department  of  Ohio.] 

The  year  draws  near  its  close,  and  in  the  sobbing  air, 
We  hear  the  voice  of  winter  everywhere ; 
Within  our  homes  the  cheerful  embers  glow, 
While  softly  falls  the  winter's  crown  of  snow. 
The  ripened  harvests  garnered  safe  away, 
Secure  us  plenty  for  each  coming  day, 
And  thus,  with  grateful  hearts  our  thanks  are  given 
To  Him  who  gives  us  home  and  gives  us  heaven. 

How  short  the  years  are — seeming  but  a  day 
Since  men,  as  comrades,  bravely  marched  away ; 
For  they  had  heard  the  ominous  tocsin  bell 
That  tolled  a  dirge,  when  proud  Fort  Sumter  fell. 
Their  partings  said — then  mothers,  sisters,  wives 
Bade  them  God  speed,  with  tender,  tearful  eyes ; 
While  sweethearts  blushed  and  tried  in  vain  to  still 
The  heart-throbs,  that  each  loving  word  would  thrill. 

The  strongest  comrade  shed  a  manly  tear, 
When  low  sweet  words  revealed  the  parting  near ; 
And  men  who  braved  the  cannon's  thundering  roar 
Trembled  and  faltered  at  the  roof-tree  door. 
But  on  the  field,  where,  battle-stained  and  torn 
The  glorious  flag  of  liberty  was  borne 
By  stalwart  hands — all  danger  to  defy — 
The  shout  went  up,  "  For  liberty  we  die." 


-53- 

Ah,  how  the  loved  ones,  waited  day  by  day 

For  messages  from  heroes  far  away ; 

And  how  they  wept,  no  poet's  pen  can  tell, 

To  read  the  record,  how  some  hero  fell. 

Year  after  year  the  shock  of  battle  rang 

Throughout  the  land,  and  brought  each  heart  a  pang ; 

And  graves  were  made,  amid  our  hopes  and  fears, 

And  loyal  blood  was  mingled  with  our  tears. 

We  sometimes  felt  our  prayers  were  all  in  vain  ; 

The  roll  was  called — "  three  hundred  thousand  slain  !  " 

But  God  knew  best,  and  gave  our  eyes  to  see 

The  golden  light ;  four  million  souls  were  free  ! 

And  we  to-day  can  boast  the  honored  name 

Of  gallant  men  who  fell  among  the  slain — 

One  on  the  field,  and  one  passed  on  above 

While  teaching  Heaven's  ministry  of  love.* 

And  while  the  years  go  by,  with  birds  and  flowers, 
We'll  ne'er  forget  these  comrades  brave  of  ours ; 
When  reveille  proclaims  the  morning  light, 
Or  tattoo  sounds,  'mid  gathering  shades  of  night ; 
Or  when  'round  camp  fire  we  together  meet, 
To  make  unwritten  history  more  complete — 
Memory  will  bring  anew  the  tearful  scene, 
How  we,  on  duty,  shared  the  same  canteen. 

*  Welch  Post  was  named  in  honor  of  two  brave  soldiers  who  were 
residents  of  Tuscarawas  county,  Ohio. 


—  59- 

And  when  God's  armies  muster  into  line 
With  angels,  worshipping  at  the  eternal  shrine  ; 
WELCH  POST  will  "  forward  march  "  at  tap  of  drum, 
And  hear  the  plaudit,  faithful  souls  "  well  done." 
With  comrades  brave  from  over  all  our  land 
We'll  marshal  forces  at  the  Great  Command, 
In  solid  colum,  rank  and  file  shall  rest, 
In  heavenly  armor,  helmet,  shield  and  crest. 


MARGUERITE. 


[Music  by  Bischoff.  published  by  John  Church  &  Co.] 


Star-eyed  flow' ret,  Marguerite, 
You  have  wakened  from  your  dream, 
In  the  meadow  by  the  stream — 
Where  the  laughing  little  brook 
(Brighest  page  in  nature's  book) 
Heard  the  lily  from  its  throne — 
In  a  gentle  undertone — 
Whisper  to  itself  alone ; 
"  Marguerite,  Marguefite." 

Star-eyed  flow'ret,  Marguerite, 
Have  you  loving  words  to  tell, 
Of  the  pleasant  woodland  dell, 
Where  the  violet  in  surprise 


—  6o  — 

Opened  wide  its  dreaming  eyes; 
When  the  fairies'  dancing  feet, 
And  the  thrushes'  music  sweet, 
Made  your  humble  life  complete, 
Marguerite,  Marguerite. 


ON  THE  EVERGREEN  SHORE. 


[In  Memory  of  Miss  L.  W.  F.] 


Oh  sweet  be  thy  slumber,  my  darling, 

In  Heaven  thy  loved  spirit  shall  rest 
From  sorrow  and  sin  and  temptation, 

At  home  with  the  saints  ever  blest. 
Oh,  zephyrs  of  spring-time  float  softly, 

And  wake  not  her  gentle  repose, 
Whose  life  like  a  bright  flower  unfolded — 

Like  a  swift  fading  flower  was  its  close. 

I  knew  that  her  dear  life  was  fading, 

As  a  rose  when  it  blushes  at  even, 
When  kissed  by  thg  breath  of  the  summer 

That  wafts  its  sweet  perfume  to  heaven ; 
For  when  shadows  of  evening  were  falling, 

And  the  stars  lighting  up  the  blue  sky, 
Angel  voices  around  her  were  calltng, 

I  heard  their  soft  wings  rustle  by. 


—  6i  — 

While  on  through  life's  tiresome  journey, 

I  wearily  toil  day  by  day, 
I'll  trust  in  the  blessed  Redeemer, 

And  think  of  my  child  when  I  pray ; 
My  darling,  as  fair  as  the  roses 

That  bloom  with  the  coming  of  spring ; 
Whose  dear  form  in  silence  reposes 

Where  birds  of  the  summer-time  sing. 

Far  away  is  a  beautiful  river 

That  flows  by  the  evergreen  shore, 
Where  the  angels  make  music  forever, 

And  where  friends  meet  to  part  nevermore. 
And  I  know  that  my  child  will  be  waiting 

On  the  banks  of  that  river  for  me ; 
When  I  hear  the  blest  words  of  our  Saviour, 

"  Welcome  home,  for  thy  spirit  is  free." 


THE  RECOMPENSE  OF  FAITH. 


I  had  struggled  in  the  darkness — 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night ; 
While  no  ray  of  golden  sunshine 

Shed  its  gleam  of  glorious  light. 
And  when  fain  among  the  reapers, 

I  would  gather  up  the  sheaves, 
I  could  only  find  before  me 

A  few  dead  and  withered  leaves. 


—  62  — 

While  my  hands  were  worn  and  weary, 

And  my  feet  with  thorns  all  scarred, 
And  the  lessons  suffering  taught  me, 

Were  both  practical  and  hard  ; 
Still  I  knew  that  God  intended 

That  my  hands  should  gather  flowers ; 
Else  why  were  they  strewn  so  thickly 

In  this  changeful  world  of  ours  ? 

Thus  with  patient  faith  I  waited  ; 

Trusting  on  from  day  to  day, 
'Till  I  found  my  path  grow  brighter, 

For  the  clouds  were  giving  way. 
Then  I  knelt  before  the  Master, 

And  with  trembling  and  with  tears 
I  revered  Him  for  the  mercy, 

That  had  kept  me  through  the  years. 

Through  the  weary  years  of  trial, 

When  no  earthly  friend  was  nigh 
To  relieve  my  heavy  burdens, 

Nor  to  hear  my  pleading  cry. 
Now  I  ask  for  grace  to  keep  me 

Till  my  tasks  of  life  are  done ; 
Till  life's  work  shall  all  be  ended, 

And  the  crown  of  victory  won. 


-63- 
REST,  NOBLE  HERO,  REST. 


[Read  Memorial  Day,  1884,  at  the  grave  of  Col.  Alfred  B.  Meacham, 
of  Modoc  fame.] 


Rest,  hero,  rest,  thy  care  and  toil  is  done. 
Thy  battle  ended  and  thy  victory  won ; 
Thy  path  through  life  was  often  dark  and  drear, 
Yet  faith's  eternal  lamp  was  bright  and  clear ; 
Thy  trusting  soul  in  darkest  hours  would  stand 
Amid  the  joy  of  Heaven's  sweet  summer-land. 
Though  thou  did'st  suffer  much  and  suffer  long, 
Pain  always  made  thy  dauntless  spirit  strong, 
And  'mid  the  storms  of  sorrow's  wild  unrest, 
They  always  loved  thee  most  who  knew  thee  best. 

Friend  of  the  friendless  ones,  whose  council  fires 

Burn  low  in  memory  of  departed  sires ; 

Who,  in  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  wood 

Hear  the  Great  Spirit  whisper,  Heaven  is  good ; 

Whose  faith  sublime  with  ours  might  well  compare ; 

For  unto  them  God  dwelleth  everywhere. 

'Tis  true,  they  sent  the  bullet  in  the  fray, 

To  take  from  thee  thy  precious  life  away; 

But  when  they  found  thee  still  their  faithful  friend, 

They  loved  thee  well  and  loved  thee  to  the  end. 

Rest,  hero,  rest,  we  love  thee  now,  as  in  departed  years, 
While  on  thy  grave  we  place  these  flowers  and  bless  them 
with  our  tears, 


—  64  — 

The  bugle  call  can  never  wake  thee  from  thy  dreamless 

sleep, 

But  angel  forms  around  thy  grave  shall  loving  vigil  keep. 
The  balmy  breeze  at  evening  time  shall  chant  a  requiem 

song, 

And  woodland  thrush  in  gentle  tones  the  sacred  notes  pro 
long. 

These  flowers  will   drift   their   fragrant  snow  across  thy 

silent  breast, 
While  nature's  voices  whisper  low,  rest,  noble  hero,  rest. 


WHAT  IS  POETRY. 


Go  ask  the  rose,  whence  came  its  shapely  grace 
And  the  rich  blushes  of  its  smiling  face, 
And  why  its  leaves  such  holy  incense  shed 
When  all  of  beauty,  life  and  hope  are  dead. 
And  why  we  cherish  through  departing  years 
Its  memory,  with  our  blessings  and  our  tears. 

Go  ask  the  lily  in  its  stately  pride, 

Or  when  it  dips  its  fingers  in  the  tide ; 

Why  it  was  formed  to  neither  toil  nor  spin, 

Yet  more  than  kingly  glory  here  to  win. 

And  when  its  trusting  heart  to  heaven  looks  up, 

The  bee  drinks  nectar  from  its  brimming  cup. 


_65- 

Go  ask  the  violet,  humble,  pure  and  true, 
Who  gave  to  it  its  eyes  of  tender  blue, 
And  such  rare  sweetness,  that  the  angels  tread 
With  reverent  awe  beside  its  lowly  bed  ; 
And  when  'tis  crushed  by  cruel,  careless  feet, 
It  only  smiles  and  breaths  a  sigh  more  sweet. 

Go  ask  the  birds  why  they  in  chorus  sing 

The  same  sweet  words  with  each  returning  spring, 

And  soaring  upward  from  ambrosial  bowers 

Look  down  upon  this  careworn  world  of  ours ; 

While  white-winged  beings,  near  heaven's  portal  throng 

To  listen  to  the  glory  of  their  song. 

Go  ask  the  stars,  enrobed  in  golden  light, 
Who  gave  to  them  a  voice  to  rule  the  night, 
And  myriad  banners  flashing  o'er  the  sea, 
Reflecting  heaven's  eternal  imagery; 
While  man  looks  up  with  wonder  from  afar 
To  view  the  splendor  of  each  royal  star. 

Go  ask  the  worn  with  waiting,  weary  heart, 

That  in  life's  trials  bears  a  bitter  part, 

Whence  comes  the  rainbow  light  across  the  skies 

Revealing  roseate  tints  of  Paradise. 

And  the  sweet  voice,  the  gentle  "  peace  be  still," 

That  calms  its  fears  and  makes  its  pulses  thrill. 

Go  ask  of  these,  thus  shall  the  answer  be, 
"  There  blooms  a  flower  immortal — Poetry. 

5 


—  66  — 

God  gave  it  man,  to  make  his  pathway  bright, 
And  hide  the  thorns  and  thistles  from  his  sight. 
With  awe  we  worship,  at  the  rose-wreathed  shrine, 
And  bow  before  an  influence  Divine!" 


THE  OLD  HEARTHSTONE. 


f  Music  published  by  Shaw  &  Co.] 


SONG. 

I'm  dreaming  of  the  old  hearthstone; 

The  home  so  far  away, 
And  pleasant  scenes  that  long  have  flown 

Come  back  to  me  to-day. 

CHORUS. 

The  old  hearthstone,  the  old  hearthstone- 
While  sailing  o'er  life's  restless  sea 

Shall  memories  of  the  old  hearthstone 
Bring  joy  and  hope  to  me. 

I  see  the  maples  by  the  mill 

The  orchard  and  the  lane  ; 
The  cherry  trees  upon  the  hill 

Seem  all  to  be  the  same. 

Beside  the  hearth  my  mother  sits, 

Her  face  so  calm  and  fair ; 
Her  hands  the  self-same  stocking  knits 

As  when  I  last  was  there. 


-67- 

The  rockers  of  her  old  arm-chair 
Are  making  music  sweet ; 

The  kitten  with  its  glossy  hau 
ls  nestling  at  her  feet. 

And  yet  I  know  that  twenty  years 
Have  with  their  blessings  fled, 

And  on  a  marble  stone  appears 
The  name  of  '  mother  ' — dead  ! 

Dear  mother  sleeps,  no  throb  of  pain 
Her  loving  heart  can  stir — 

Our  loss  was  her  eternal  gain, 
We  need  not  weep  for  her. 

But  while  these  sacred  memories  rise 
With  dreams  of  home,  sweet  home, 

Tears  come  unbidden  to  my  eyes, 
While  o'er  the  world  I  roam. 


A  SONG  OF  SADNESS. 


They  are  blooming  in  their  beauty- 
The  early  flowers  of  spring, 

And  above  my  cottage  window, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  sing  ; 


—  68  — 

But  the  flowers  will  fade  and  leave  MS 
Though  the  smiles  of  sunlight  fall, 

And  the  tender  dew  of  heaven 
Sheds  it's  sweetness  over  all. 

'Twas  thus,  the  joys  of  spring-time 

That  blossomed  in  a  day, 
'Neath  the  chilling  winds  of  autumn 

Were  buried,  all  away  ; 
And  the  hopes  I  love  to  cherish     . 

Are  hidden  in  my  pain, 
For  I  sigh  to  think  life's  summer-time 

Can  never  come  again.       t 

Cease,  my  soul,  thy  wail  of  sadness 

There  is  work  for  thee  to  do  ; 
Though  the  cruel  storms  of  winter 

Hide  life's  roses  from  thy  view, 
It  is  only  the  faint-hearted 

Who  yield  to  blank  despair, 
While  the  true  and  noble  gather 

Gems  of  beauty  everywhere. 


-69- 

TELL  ME  ROSES. 


SONG. 

Oh,  tell  me,  shining  lilies, — 

Let  me  press  your  hand  of  snow, — 
Does  my  lover  love  me  truly  ? 

For  surely  you  must  know. 
In  the  early  gray  of  morning 

When  your  lips  were  wet  with  dew — 
Did  not  an  unseen  angel  come 

And  whisper  it  to  you  ? 

Oh,  tell  me  blushing  roses 

With  your  voice  of  fragrance  sweet, 
Tell  me  will  my  absent  lover 

Come  and  worship  at  my  feet  ? 
I  have  been  so  broken-hearted 

Since  we  pledged  our  fond  good-bye, 
And  if  he  has  ceased  to  love  me — 

Tell  me  roses,  tell  me  why. 

Oh,  brilliant  stars  of  heaven 

That  gem  the  brow  of  night, 
Go  brighten  up  his  pathway 

While  absent  from  my  sight. 
Oh,  fairy  winds  float  softly 

While  you  cross  the  distant  sea, 
And  pray  tell  my  absent  lover 

To  hasten  back  to  me. 


_7o  — 


SUMMER  WEATHER. 


Across  the  fields  of  ripening  grain 

The  smiles  of  summer  light  are  glancing, 
And  on  the  river's  silver  breast 

The  shadows  of  the  trees  are  dancing, 
As  on  the  chanting  waters  flow, 

The  lilies  dream  and  sigh  and  quiver 
And  dip  their  snowy  finger-tips 

Into  the  sweetly  singing  river. 

The  humming  birds,  in  rainbow  sheen, 

Drink  nectar  from  the  fragrant  clover, 
And  from  the  vale  the  meadow-lark 

Is  calling  for  her  truant  lover. 
The  summer  skies  and  river's  song 

And  music  of  the  woodland  thrushes, 
Bring  back  the  hour  when  first  I  kissed 

From  my  love's  cheek  the  tell-tale  blushes. 

Heaven  bless  the  time  our  vows  were  given 

To  walk  the  path  of  life  together, 
Through  autumn  shades  and  wintry  storms 

And  dreamy  bliss  of  summer  weather. 
The  stars  bore  witness  to  our  pledge, 

And  bowed  their  crowns  of  golden  glory, 
As  though  'twere  something  new  to  hear 

From  lover's  lips  the  old,  old  story. 


—  7i  — 

Full  twenty  years  have  come  and  gone, 

And  brought  us  tears  as  well  as  pleasure, 
What  matters  it — I  still  possess 

My  purest,  dearest,  only  treasure. 
Sing  thrushes  !  let  your  songs  and  mine, 

Blended  in  unison  together, 
Rehearse  the  sweetness  of  to-day — 

The  splendor  of  this  summer  weather. 


SOMETIME. 


Sometimes  my  heart  and  brain  grow  very  weary 

Longing  for  quiet  rest ; 
Life  seems  to  be  a  desert  dark  and  dreary 

With  fragant  flowers  unblest. 

Sadly  I  sigh  for  fields  of  scented  clover 

Where  wild  bees  love  to  roam; 
In  vain  I  search  the  beds  of  violets  over 

To  find  one  leaf  of  bloom. 

If  I  could  hear  one  strain  of  music  thrilling, 

My  glad  enraptured  soul 
Would  bow  at  life's  behests,  supremely  willing, 

Till  love  should  make  me  whole. 


-72  — 

E'en  o'er  my  muse  a  cloud  of  gloom  is  drifted — 

Coldly  enshrouding  all  ; 
I  wonder  if  the  cloud  will  e'er  be  rifted 

At  memory's  loving  call. 

Ah,  heart !  so  ever  ready  at  repining, 

God  doeth  all  things  best ; 
Sometimes  He  hides  the  gorgeous  silver  lining 

To  give  His  children  rest.  - 

Else  our  poor  eyes  o'erdazzled  by  the  splendor 

Would  soon  grow  weak  and  dim ; 
He  wills  it  thus,  no  earthly  arm  can  hinder — 

Then  learn  to  trust  in  Him. 

Sometime,  beyond  the  golden  gates  of  glory 

My  soul  shall  learn  to  know 
Why  life  was  thronged  with  deserts  wierd  and  hoary 

And  always  clouded  so. 


SEA-ANEMONES. 


Anemones  !    sea-anemones, 

Purple,  white  and  red, 
Dreaming  loves  enchanted  dream 

In  your  golden  bed  ; 


73 

Memory  bears  me  back  again 
'To  your  fragrance  sweet, 

Where  the  cool  waves  of  the  sea, 
Danced  beside  my  feet. 

Anemones  !    sea-anemones, 

Tell  me  can  it  be 
We  shall  ever  meet  again 

Close  beside  the  sea  ? 
Where  the  breakers  proudly  rise, 

Towering  mountain  high, 
While  the  silver-crested  foam 

Drapes  the  azure  sky. 

Blessed  hours,  when  love  and  I 

Wandered  hand  in  hand, 
And  the  ocean  seemed  to  be 

Love's  immortal  land ; 
Listening  to  the  trembling  sea's 

Sacred  monotone, 
This  my  lover  said  to  me — 

"  Will  you  be  my  own  ?" 

While  the  answer  of  my  soul 

Blushing  lips  concealed, 
Quick  the  throbbing  of  my  heart 

Loving  words  revealed. 
Voice  of  love  is  still  the  same, 

Though  it  silent  be  ; 
Thus  my  raptured  heart  confessed- 

'Twas  no  longer  free. 


—  74  — 

Anemones  !    sea-anemones, 

Purple,  white  and  red, 
Dream  for  other  lovers  now 

In  your  golden  bed. 
While  you  close  your  tearful  eyes 

Dreaming  life  away — 
Other  lovers  by  the  sea, 

Roam  love's  land  to-day. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  ROSES. 


Oh  !  this  precious  gift  of  roses — 

They  shall  droop  and  fade  away, 
For  each  heart  of  gold  discloses 

Trembling  signs  of  sure  decay. 
But  in  death  they  breathe  a  sweetness 

Through  this  throbbing  life  of  mine, 
And  'mid  suffering's  full  completeness, 

I  shall  know  their  power  sublime. 

Oh  !  this  precious  gift -of  flowers 

Speaks  a  world  of  joy  to  me — 
Tells  me  of  the  golden  hours 

And  the  days  that  used  to  be  ; 
Days  when  yet  my  footsteps  lingered 

In  the  Eden  of  the  blest — 
When  each  passing  zephyr  whispered 

Only  love  and  hope  and  rest. 


-75- 

Oh  !  this  precious  gift  of  flowers 

.  Fill  my  soul  with  sweet  surprise, 
And  in  fancy,  Heaven's  fair  bowers 

Bloom,  before  my  wondering  eyes ; 
While  with  reverent  gaze  and  holy 

As  I  look  toward  the  sky, 
Clouds  above  me,  drifting  slowly, 

Seem  like  angels  passing  by. 

Oh  !  this  precious  gift  of  flowers 

Speaks  of  glorious  victories  won  ; 
Whispers  of  the  restful  hours 

When  the  battle's  toil  was  done. 
Speak,  oh  flowers,  with  voice  of  sweetness, 

Words  that  oft  the  weary  thrill — 
Fraught  with  God's  supreme  completeness, 

"  Peace,  oh  troubled  heart  be  still." 


THE  RIVER'S  ANSWER. 


White-winged  and  beautiful,  swift  flowing  river, 
Chanting  thy  sweet  songs  forever  and  ever ; 
Pause  in  thy  music,  and  tell  me  I  pray 
Whither  on  white  wings  so  swiftly  away. 


Ever  thou  bringest  me  dreams  of  my  childhood, 
When  from  thy  shore  near  the  deep-tangled  wildwood, 
River  and  sky  softly  blended  together 
In  the  calm  twilight  of  sweet  summer  weather. 

Sometimes  in  day  dreams  I  am  flying  like  thee, 

On  thy  bright  dancing  course  to  the  deep-sounding  sea ; 

Sometimes  my  tired  soul  rises  up  in  its  flight 

And  enters  the  mystical  portals  of  light. 

Sometimes,  ah,  sometimes  I  seem  free  from  life's  clod. 
And  thus  in  my  transport  hold  commune  with  God. 
Thus  blest,  through  the  realms  of  blue  ether  I  fly, 
Too  happy  to  live,  but  unwilling  to  die. 

Oh,  beautiful  river,  tell  me,  I  implore, 
Hast  thou  ever  yet  found  a  flower-bedecked  shore, 
Where  hope  was  immortal  and  joy  was  supreme, 
Where  no  shade  of  sadness  could  darken  thy  dream  ? 

The  river  reflecting  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
In  a  voice  of  strange  melody  makes  this  reply. 
"There  is  but  one  land  where  the  worn  and  opprest, 
The  weak  and  the  weary  have  ever  found  rest ; 
This  land  to  the  poor  of  earth's  children  is  given — 
'Tis  the  city  of  God — the  unchangeable  heaven." 


—  77  — 


I    ENVY    NOT. 


I  envy  not  kings  the  sceptre  bright, 
Nor  crowns  encircled  with  jeweled  light, 
Xor  kingdoms  of  countless  wealth  untold, 
With  hoarded  treasures  of  molten  gold. 

I  am  free — I  am  free  ! 
The  wealth  that  is  born  of  the  soul  for  me. 

I  envy  not  those  imperial  heads 

Where  beauty  its  mystical  influence  sheds  ; 

Nor  voices  that  murmur  sweet  words ;  as  the  dove 

When  its  heart  has  been  bound  in  the  meshes  of  love. 

I  am  free — I  am  free  ! 
The  beauty  that  comes  from  the  soul  for  me. 

I  envy  not  the  rich  nor  the  great, 

Who  boast  of  a  high  and  a  proud  estate ; 

Nor  the  cottager  his  vine-clad  cot, 

With  the  greatness  and  joy  of  his  humble  lot. 

I  am  free — I  am  free  ! 
The  joys  of  my  own  sweet  home  for  me. 

If  envy  at  all,  I  only  should, 
The  noble  heart,  that  is  truly  good  ; 
Who  pities  the  weakness  of  human  lives 
And  seeks  not  itself  to  aggrandize. 

I  am  free — I  am  free  ! 
The  wealth  that  is  born  of  the  soul  for  me. 


-78- 

INAUGURATION    ODE. 
MARCH  4,   1881. 


Ring  the  bells  throughout  the  Nation, 
Let  the  people's  grand  ovation 

On  the  tide  of  music  roll; 
While  our  bugles  are  resounding, 
And  all  loyal  hearts  are  bounding, 
Let  the  fire-tongue  flash  the  message 

Through  the  earth  from  pole  to  pole. 

Greet  our  chieftain  with  a  blessing, 
While  the  winds  of  Heaven  caressing 

Sing  their  songs  of  welcome  low ; 
Gra-nd  triumphal  arches  bending, 
And  with  sweetest  incense  blending, 
Scatter  beauty  o'er  his  pathway, 

Like  to  drifts  of  perfumed  snow. 

Hail !  the  stars  and  stripes  of  glory 
Wake  anew  to  tell  the  story 

Of  the  vict'ries  we  have  won  ; 
How  amid  the  thundering  rattle, 
And  the  shot  and  shell  of  battle, 
Proudly  stood  our  brave  defenders 

Till  their  noble  work  was  done. 


-79- 

Heaven  be  praised,  the  time  is  ended 

When  the  clarion's  giant  breath 
Sounded  loud,  to  call  our  comrades 

To  the  rank  and  file  of  death. 
Crown  the  dead  and  bless  the  living — 

All  who  struggled  to  be  free  ; 
Bless  the  men  who  marched  with  Sherman 

From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 

Brothers,  let  us  stand  united, 

Firm  and  true  in  heart  and  hand ; 
North  and  South,  in  solid  column, 

Pledged,  a  strong  fraternal  band. 
Nations  bow  their  heads  to  listen 

To  the  pledge  we  make  to-day, 
While  we  fold  the  blue  around  us, 

And  forget  the  fading  gray. 

Lo  !  the  lamps  of  peace  are  burning, 
And  the  olive  branch  returning, 
Welcomes  all  the  States  together 

To  this  festival  of  love. 
Greeting,  trusting,  we  assemble 
While  the  list'ning  nations  tremble  ; 
For  they  know  Columbia  registers 

Our  pledge  of  faith  above. 

On  to  glory,  pass  the  watchword 

Through  the  lines  from  shore  to  shore ; 

Not  a  soul  must  dare  to  falter — 
On  to  glory  evermore  ! 


—  8o  — 

While  our  signal  lights  are  flashing, 
Ocean  breakers,  wildly  dashing, 
Cannot,  dare,  not  reach  Columbia, 
On  her  pedestal  secure. 

Ring  the  bells  throughout  the  Nation  ; 
Let  the  people's  grand  ovation 

On  the  tide  of  music  roll  ; 
Echo  hill  and  dale  and  valley ; 
Freemen  rally,  rally,  rally  ! 
While  Columbia  shouts  the  watchword 

Through  the  earth,  from  pole  to  pole. 


BEAUTIFUL  VIOLETS. 


Beautiful  violets  why  do  you  sleep, 

Wrapped  in  your  mantle  of  snow  ? 
Do  you  fear  the  rude  touch  of  the  cruel  storm-king, 

Or  the  cold  winds  that  fitfully  blow  ? 

Are  you  waiting  to  hear  the  robin's  sweet  voice, 
From  the  old  orchard  tree  on  the  hill ; 

While  woodland  and  valley,  mountain  and  glen 
Re-echo  the  fanciful  trill  ? 

Do  you  dream  of  the  hours  we  spent  by  the  lake, 
With  our  old  friends  the  musical  birds ; 

When  from  the  meadows  with  daisies  o'er  spiead, 
Came  the  lowing  of  numberless  herds? 


—  Si- 
Night  after  night,  the  dream  angels  bring 

Sounds  of  your  silvery  feet ; 
Your  fairy-like  lips  with  warm  kisses  glow, 

Then  hope's  full  fruition's  complete. 

Beautiful  violets'  soon  from  your  sleep, 

Blushing  with  tender  surprise 
You'll  awake,  to  behold  nature  radiant  and  gay, 

With  a  glance  from  your  wonderful  eyes. 


A    FRAGMENT. 


Watching,  watching,  thoughtfully  watching 
Children  enjoying  their  midsummer  play  ; 

Dreaming  of  childhood's  ineffable  hours 
That  on  light  wings  passed  quickly  away. 

Toiling,  toiling,  incessantly  toiling — 

Wearing  the  gathering  hours  away ; 
But  when  from  our  grasp  they  drift  away  slowly, 

We  gladly  would  welcome  their  stay. 

Hoping,  hoping,  earnestly  hoping 

For  flowers  that  shall  bloom  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ; 
When  we  reach  the  low  valley  where  sunlight  is  fading. 

And  have  suffered  the  good  Master's  will. 
6 


—  82  — 


HEAVEN  BLESS  THE  LITTLE  BOYS. 


When  out  upon  the  crowded  street 

The  mischief-loving  boys  I  meet ; 
Rolling  their  hoops  and  tossing  ball, 

Ever  engaged  with  busy  feet, 
I  breathe  a  prayer — Heaven  bless  them  all. 

The  pride  and  glory  of  the  town 

Are  the  bare-foot  boys  with  cheeks  of  brown  ; 
Who  rush  along  with  clamorous  noise, 

And  hearts  as  light  as  eider-down. 
Heaven  bless  them  all ;  those  precious  boys. 

In  each  young  brow  and  tender  face 
And  smiling  eyes  and  voice  I  trace, 

The  future  of  our  country  joys, 
And  grand  ennobling  of  our  race. 

Heaven  guard  and  keep  the  little  boys. 

If  we  would  train  with  honor  great, 
Men  to  adorn  both  church  and  state, 

And  every  power  of  vice  destroy, — 
Our  prayers  must  be,  early  and  late, 

Heaven's  angels  guard  each  little  boy. 


-83- 
FAREWELL  TO  THE  OHIO  EDITORS. 


[In  the  winter  of  1881  a  brilliant  reception  was  given  to  the  Ohio 
Editors  visiting  Washington,  D.  C.] 


Farewell,  sons  of  Ohio,  proud  knights  of  the  pen, 
As  you  go  to  your  sanctums  to  labor  again, 
From  this  home  of  the  Union,  where  Liberty  stands 
With  her  arms  wide  extended  and  warm  loving  hands 
Reaching  out  to  receive  you,  and  crown  you  anew 
With  the  laurels  reserved  for  the  noble  and  true. 
Go  forth,  noble  toilers,  in  grandeur  of  might, 
Your  laurels  emblazoned  with  truth  and  the  right. 

Great  men  of  our  nation  surrounded  your  shrine 

And  poured  on  your  altars  the  tribute  divine 

Of  their  grand  inspiration,  like  garlands  of  flowers 

Kissed  by  heaven's  pure  sunlight  in  sweet  morning  hours. 

'T  is  thus  you  go  forth,  borne  on  intellect's  tide, 

With  the  fires  fresh  kindled  of  honor  and  pride. 

Firm  and  true  to  your  calling  your  hosts  shall  be  led 

With  the  banner  of  freedom  above  you  outspread. 

Farewell,  sons  of  Ohio,  'tis  yours  to  defend 
The  proud  rights  of  the  people ;  and  thus,  to  this  end, 
You  must  labor  for  statesmen  and  soldiers,  and  all 
Who'll  be  true  to  their  trust  when  our  nation  shall  call. 
With  your  hands  on  the  pulse  of  Columbia,  to  tell 
When  her  heart's  blood  is  throbbing  with  victory's  swell, — 
May  you  bury  the  sword  'neath  our  banner  unfurl'd. 
For  the  Press  is  the  beacon  that  lights  up  the  world. 


-84- 
IN  SILENCE  NOW. 


[Mr.  L.  W.  Kennedy,  editor  of  "  The  Truth,"  died  at  his  home  in 
Washington,  D.  C.,  Feb.  25,  1881.  On  the  coffin  was  placed  a  pen 
made  of  English  violets,  and  the  chief  mourner  was  his  intended 
bride.] 


Fold  the  cold  hands  of  the  sleeper ; 

Walk  with  silent  step  and  slow  ; 
Breathe  a  parting  benediction — 

Holy,  reverent,  sweet  and  low. 
Press  love's  purest,  fondest  kisses 

On  the  tear-wet,  marble  brow : 
'Tis  a  fitting  time  for  worship, 

Bow  the  knee  and  worship  now. 

Hushed  the  voice ;  the  bright  expression 

Faded  from  the  love-lit  eyes — 
But  the  soul  in  holier  radiance 

Smiles  from  Heaven's  immortal  skies. 
Heard  you  not  the  benediction, 

Heard  you  not  the  harps  of  gold, 
When  the  angel  song  of  welcome 

Through  the  heavenly  portals  rolled? 

When  we  heard  the  white  wings  rustle 
And  the  sigh  of  parting  breath, 

Then  we  wept  in  sobbing  anguish, 
For  we  said  the  sleep  was  death. 


-85- 

What  is  death?     'Tis  like  a  lily- 
Spotless,  fragrant,  white  and  pure. 

Need  death  seem  so  cold  and  chilly 
Since  it  makes  our  faith  secure. 

Let  him  rest,  the  noble  toiler — 

Earnest  champion  of  "  The  Truth," 
While  the  pen  of  fragrant  violets 

Writes  the  words,  "  immortal  youth." 
In  the  land  of  deathless  flowers, 

Emblems  of  a  woman's  love, 
These  fond  hearts  shall  be  united 

Evermore  in  Heaven  above. 


CENTENNIAL    ODE. 
JULY,  1876. 

Unfurl  your  banners,  let  the  joy-bells  ring ; 
All  hail  the  light  that  heralded  the  dawn, — 
The  glorious  dawning  of  our  greatness  ; 
Ring,  ring  the  bells  and  let  the  echo  run 
To  every  kindred  land  beneath  the  sun  ; 
Let  all  unite,  to  celebrate  the  day 
When  smiling  Heaven  in  kindly  mood  bestowed 
Our  own  beloved, — immortal  Washington  ! 

Unfurl  the  stripes,  float  out  the  golden  stars, 
Emblem  of  more  than  life, — our  liberty, 


—  86  — 

The  priceless  boon  for  which  our  fathers  bled, 
And  bravely  died,  on  to  the  conflict  led, 
By  him  who,  patriot,  statesman,  soldier  all  combined 
Now  lives,  within  a  nation's  heart,  enshrined. 

We  speak  his  name,  and  every  pulse  is  thrilled 
From  very  love,  our  eyes  with  tears  are  filled ; 
Born  to  be  honored — seeking  not  renown, 
His  noble  brow  disdained  to  wear  a  crown. 
He  needed  none,  his  own  great  deeds  shall  be 
A  living  crown  through  all  eternity  ! 
And  nations  yet  unborn,  shall  honor  claim, 
To  bow  their  heads,  and  proudly  speak  his  name. 

Our  Washington  !  well  may  our  pulses  thrill, 
Well  may  bright  eyes,  with  loving  tears  o'erfill 
For  him,  who  lit  Columbia's  torch  of  fame, 
And  dying  bequeathed  her  sons  his  honored  name. 

*|C  3f»  5JC  2JC  JjC  5|C 

But  hark  !  commotion  sounds  throughout  the  land, 
Dismay  and  terror  reign  on  every  hand ; 
Fort  Sumpter  falls,  'mid  showers  of  shot  and  shell — 
Blood  marks  the  spot  where  Sumpter's  heroes  fell. 
Brother  meets  brother  in  the  unholy  strife; 
Each  madly  strives  to  take  the  other's  life ; 
Columbia  mourns, — her  proud  escutcheon  stained — 
Drooping  the  wreath  her  fallen  heroes  gained. 

But  joy !  above  the  din  of  war,  is  heard 

The  welcome  news, — each  loyal  heart  is  stirred, 


-87- 

The  angel  Peace,  outspreads  her  golden  wings ; 
The  dove,  the  olive  branch  of  covenant  brings. 
Rejoice,  for  North  and  South  are  bound  as  one; 
"  With  charity  for  all,  and  malice  toward  none  !" 
Brothers  again  ! — hushed  is  the  knell  of  doom, 
Where  tumult  raged,  love's  fairest  flowers  bloom. 

Ring,  ring  the  bells,  and  let  the  echo  run 
To  every  kindred  land  beneath  the  sun  ; 
All  honor  to  our  own  immortal  dead, 
Who,  through  the  darkness,  on  to  victory  led. 
And  while  sweet  violets  bloom  above  their  graves, 
And  while  the  stars  and  stripes  above  them  waves, 
A  nation's  blessing  shall  their  requiem  be, 
Who  purchased  with  their  blood,  our  liberty  ! 


Ring,  ring  the  tidings,  Independence  Bell ! 
To  all  the  nations  the  glad  story  tell, — 
Liberty  !  Peace !  and  Union  !  all  combined, 
Around  our  altars  sacredly  entwined. 
While  over  all,  in  stately  triumph  waves 
Our  glorious  flag, — to  kindly  welcome  all 
Who  meet  as  friends  in  Independence  Hall. 
Glory  to  God  !  for  what  our  fathers  wrought ; 
Glory  to  God  !   for  what  the  years  have  brought. 
O,  car  of  Progress,  speed  in  conquest  on 
Throughout  the  century  about  to  come. 
Heaven  guard,  and  keep  our  country's  honor  pure 
While  earth  shall  last,  and  rolling  time  endure. 


MABEL. 

SONG. 
I  am  thinking  to-night  of  thee,  Mabel, 

Mabel,  so  peerless  and  fair, 
Of  the  heavenly  light  in  thy  violet  eyes, 

And  the  gold  of  thy  rippling  hair — 
Of  the  moonlit  path  where  we  used  to  meet 
And  walk  together  with  stainless  feet. 

I  am  wearing  a  garland  for  thee,  Mabel, 

Pale  violets,  and  roses  white ; 
As  pure  as  the  flowers  that  forever  bloom, 

In  the  gardens  oi  golden  light;     , 
They  whisper  to  me,  of  departed  years — 
As  I  moisten  their  lips  with  my  falling  tears. 

Why  art  thou  so  cruel  and  cold,  Mabel  ? 

Why  spurn  me  away  from  thy  side  ? 
Sweet  Mabel,  my  love,  my  angelic  queen  ! 

Tell  me  this :    wilt  thou  be  my  bride. 
Patiently,  fondly,  I  here  shall  wait 
Until  from  thy  lips  I  have  learned  my  fate. 

Heaven  guard  and  keep  thee,  Mabel,  Mabel ! 

When  another's  home  thou  shalt  bless ; 
But  love,  should  life's  shadows  around  thee  fall, 

Wilt  thou  think  of  my  soul's  distress. 
And  now,  that  I  journey  across  the  sea, 
Wilt  thou  breathe  at  the  altar  a  prayer  for  me  ? 


FADED    LILIES. 


My  lilies,  pure  white  lilies, 

Have  all  faded  from  my  sight ; 
Just  as  many  of  the  loved  ones 

I  am  dreaming  of  to-night. 
With  their  lustrous  waxen  petals 

And  sweetly-perfumed  breath, 
I  forgot,  that  like  the  roses 

They  were  subject  unto  death. 

I  asked  the  clover  blossoms, 

To  give  the  answer  true ; 
Where  are  my  shining  lilies? 

I  have  searched  the  garden  through  j 
But  the  clover  blossoms  answered — 

As  they  drooped  their  graceful  heads — 
"You  will  find  their  faded  petals 

Scattered  o'er  the  garden  beds." 

Then  I  turned  away  in  sadness 

And  in  sorrow  breathed  a  sigh ; 
Although  I  know,  while  flowers  may  fade, 

Bright  things  can  never  die. 
Another  year,  when  summer  comes 

My  faith  shall  not  be  vain  ; 
My  silver-throated  lilies  then 

Shall  bloom  for  me  again. 


—  90- 
A  GIFT  OF  ROSES. 


The  flowers  you  gave  me  yester-night — 
Those  roses  of  crimson  and  fairy  white 
As  they  pour  perfume  on  the  morning  breeze 
They  whisper  to  me  of  a  heart  at  ease. 
Oh,  beautiful  roses 
Hasten  to  twine 
Your  tranquil  life 
In  this  soul  of  mine. 

The  roses  in  white  and  crimson  sheen, 
Encircled  by  leaves  of  golden  green, 
Have  been  kissed  by  the  lips  of  fairies  bright 
As  they  whispered  their  love  in  the  soft  moonlight. 
The  subtle  tints  of 

Their  leaves  disclose 
The  blushes  that  on 

My  love's  cheeks  repose. 

No  flash  of  the  rubies,  nor  diamonds'  glare 
Can  with  the  sweet  blush  of  these  buds  compare, 
Nor  delicate  pearls  from  the  foaming  sea, 
With  the  flowers  that  my  darling  gave  to  me. 
May  your  life,  my  love, 
Be  as  free  from  care, 
As  the  rose  that  so  near 
To  my  heart  I  wear. 


A    WELCOME. 


[Read  by  Crypti  Palmoni,  at  the  Convention  of  the  Right  Worthy 
Grand  Lodge  of  Good  Templars  of  the  World,  Washington, 
D.  C,  May  28,  1884.] 


Hark,  the  bells  of  joy  are  ringing 

And  our  flags  are  all  unfurled, 
While  we  gather  here  to  welcome 

All  the  nations  of  the  world ; 
With  a  love  that  is  immortal 

And  a  hope  that  is  sublime, 
Proud  Columbia's  hand  is  offered 

Unto  friends  of  every  clime. 

Friends  of  every  land  and  ocean 

Where  the  human  voice  is  heard, 
Have  aroused  this  great  commotion 

And  Columbia's  pulse  is  stirred; 
For  around  us  is  the  dawning 

Of  a  new  and  glorious  light — 
' '  On  to  glory !  "   is  our  watchword 

And  our  battle  flags  are  bright. 

Welcome  friends,  a  thousand  welcomes, 

To  this  grand  fraternity  ! 
Welcome  from  the  land  of  flowers, 
From  the  pure  arcadian  bowers, 

Where  the  southern  sunset  lingers, 
And  the  palm-tree  dips  its  fingers 

In  the  billows  of  the  sea ; 


And  the  southern  cross  is  lighted, 
By  the  lamps  which  heaven  ignited, 

And  from  where  the  star  of  empire 
Grandly  takes  its  westward  way — - 

Loving  friends,  we  give  you  welcome 
And  a  greeting  hand  to-day. 

Ah,  your  coming  gives  us  plea'sure, 
More  than  poet's  song  can  measure, 

For  you  answered  by  your  presence 
When  you  heard  the  bugle  call. 

You  have  come  to  give  us  power 

In  this  great  momentous  hour, 
When  the  battle  wages  strongly 

Between  purity  and  sin. 
Toiling  friends  we  bid  you  welcome, 

Welcome,  welcome,  one  and  all. 
Love  inspired  we'll  march  together, 

'Mid  life's  storms  or  summer  weather, 

« 
'Till  our  husbands  and  our  lovers,  . 

'Till  our  fathers,  sons  and  brothers 
From  the  wine  cup  shall  be  free  !      .   ** 

Though  our  altar  fires  burn  slowly, 
Yet  our  cause  is  pure  and  holy, 

And  our  noble  temperance  band  , 
Has  been  strengthened  through  the  suffering 

Of  the  women  of  our  land. 
Not  a  soul  shall  be  discouraged, 

Neither  faint  beside  the  way 


-93  — 

For  we've  seen  a  greater  struggle 
Than  the  struggle  of  to-day. 


We  have  wept  beside  our  battle-fields, 

We  have  wept  beside  our  slain ! 
We  wept  to  see  our  heroes  fall — 

We  felt  their  throbbing  pain — 
We  wept  because  we  loved  them 

When  we  saw  them  march  away ; 
Noble  men  whose  names  emblazon 

Our  escutcheon  of  to-day ! 

Our  heroes  fell ! '  but  then  we  heard 

United  voices  rise ; 
Shout  after  shout,  throughout  the  land 

Ascended  toward  the  skies ; 
And  sealed  in  blood  the  covenant 

Of  glory  yet  to  be, 

For  the  shackles  had  been  broken 

• 

And  four  million  souls  were  free. 

And  while  we  pray  that  Heaven  will  spare 

Our  land  from  such  a  strife ; 
The  men  who  make  our  nation's  laws 

Must  give  our  nation  life.  , 

Full  twenty  million  human  souls 

Are  pleading  here  to-day — 
"  Oh !  save  us  from  the  tempter's  cup 

And  open  up  the  way 


-94  — 

That  leads  to  honor,  love  and  truth, 

And  blessings  yet  to  be," 
And  hark!  our  temperance  hosts  exclaim; 

"Make  way  for  liberty." 
The  trumpet  voice  comes  thundering  down 

The  corridor  of  years, 
Yet  gently  as  an  angel's  hand 

It  wipes  away  our  tears. 

Behold,  the  arch  of  promise  bright ; 

Our  hosts  with  proud  eclat, 
Are  marching  onward  in  the  fight, 

Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah  ! 
On,  on  to  victory,  onward  on  ! 

Our  flags  are  all  unfurled, 
The  reveille  has  just  begun, 

Our  battle-field's  the  world. 

We  need  not  fear,  our  soldiers  brave 

Shall  never  suffer  loss ; 
For  lo,  the  Crescent  reaches  forth 

To  greet  the  Southern  Cross, 
And  thus  united  we  shall  be 

Through  every  day  and  hour, 
'Till  all  our  loved  ones  shall  be  free 

From  Rum's  despotic  power  ! 


—  95  — 


AT      LAST 


A  ROMANCE. 


She  loved  him  not,  though  her  pledge  was  given 

To  love  through  all  the  years ; 
And  cheeks  once  pink  with  blushes 

Were  stained  with  cruel  tears. 
Where  the  sea-foam's  eternal  splendor 

Lay  white,  'neath  a  moonlit  sky, 
This  beautiful  maiden  was  waiting, 

Hoping  only  to  droop  and  die. 
Across  the  billows  her  lover 

Had  gone  for  a  year  or  more ; 
And  she  secretly  prayed  that  his  vessel 

Would  never  return  to  shore. 


In  a  low-roofed,  vine-bower' d  cottage, 

Where  the  honey-suckle's  bloom, 
Lifted  from  scarlet  censers, 

Rich  volumes  of  sweet  perfume, 
This  maiden  found  a  new  lover, 

Who  kissed  with  a  manly  grace 
Despair  from  her  brow  of  marble, 

And  grief  from  her  tear-stained  face ; 
At  last  she  had  found  her  ideal — 


-96- 

What  more  could  she  want  beside  ? 
And  with  lips  that  out-blushed  the  roses 
She  vowed  to  become  his  bride. 


'Twas  night  —  and  the  tempest's  blackness 

Loomed  up  in  a  threatening  sky  — 
And  above  the  roar  of  the  waves  was  heard 

TJie  ominous  sea-gull's  cry. 
The  sea,  with  a  wierd  unearthly  voice, 

Dashed  angrily  to  and  fro  ; 
Louder  the  wail  of  the  breakers  — 

As  louder  the  storm-winds  blow. 
A  fisherman  ran  to  the  cottage  ; 

His  face  of  an  ashen  white  ; 
"  Help  !"  in  tremulous  tones  he  shouted, 

"  The  Dolphin  is  wrecked  to-night  !" 

"The  Dolphin,  oh  Heaven;"  shrieked  the  maiden 

"  Heaven  send  that  no  ill  betide,  — 
The  captain  commanding  the  Dolphin, 

I  once  promised  to  be  his  bride. 
Go,  save  him,  go  save  him,"  she  faltered, 

"  Now  the  tale  of  my  life  is  told  ; 
For  I  must  abandon  the  new  love, 

And  give  myself  up  to  the  old," 
"  Give  me  the  life-line;  I'll  save  him  !  " 

Spoke  her  lover  —  my  faith  shall  be  true  ; 
"  But  if  I  should  be  lost  in  the  sea  to-night, 

Forget  not  my  love  for  you." 


—  97  — 

Then  he  clasped  to  his  heart  the  maiden 

In  a  lover's  manly  embrace, 
And  pressed  a  sweet  kiss  of  parting 

On  her  beautiful  upturned  face ; 
And  seizing  the  life-line  firmly, 

He  plunged  in  the  stormy  tide, 
And  bravely  battled  the  waters 

Till  he  reached  the  wrecked  Dolphin' 's  side. 

Then  he  called  to  the  noble  captain — 

So  firm  and  gallant  and  true — 
"Give  me  the  command  of  the  Dolphin, 

Your  sweetheart  is  waiting  for  you. 
Take  the  life-line,  strong  arms  are  waiting 

To  carry  the  life-line  in  ;" 
Then  above  the  roar  of  the  ocean 

There  sounded  a  crash  and  a  din  ; 
But  the  captain  rescued  from  the  billows 

Was  safe  on  the  welcome  shore  ; 
While  the  Dolphin, — ah,  where  was  the  Dolphin? 

'Neath  the  storm  waves  to  rise  no  more. 


At  length  came  a  time  of  mourning, 
And  a  widow,  not  young,  but  fair, 

Sat  dreamily  watching  the  sunlight 
That  gleamed  in  her  shining  hair ; 

Here  and  there  a  pale  thread  of  silver, 
Was  blent  with  the  shimmering  gold, 

7 


-98- 

But  autumn  had  made  her  more  lovely 

Than  summer,  a  thousand  fold. 
Sweet  and  low  was  the  voice  of  her  sorrow 

As  she  whispered,  "  Ah,  woe  is  me, 
One  sleeps  'neath  the  grass  in  the  churchyard  - 

And  one  in  the  treacherous  sea." 


Was  it  the  form  of  an  angel 

Appeared  at  the  fair  mourner's  side  ? 
Was  it  the  voice  of  the  sea  she  heard, 

As  on  dashed  the  incoming  tide  ? 
"  Cease,  darling,  O  cease  thy  repining, 

Let  me  kiss  from  thy  lips  those  tears ; 
With  a  love  time  has  not  disenchanted, 

I  have  waited  these  twenty  years ; 
That  thy  love  was  pure  as  an  angel's, 

I  had  not  a  reason  to  doubt ; 
When  to  save  from  the  deep  thy  first  lover, 

I  carried  the  life-line  out." 


And  now  the  white  sea-foam's  splendor 
Is  touched  with  a  pencil  of  gold, 

And  these  lovers,  so  blest  in  the  new  love, 
Will  ever  remember  the  old. 


—  99  — 
OH,  NO,  NOT  THERE. 


A  vision  of  beauty,  with  gossamer  wings 
And  a  golden  harp  with  golden  strings, 
Drew  near  to  my  side,  as  I,  worn  with  care, 

Sat  wearily  watching  the  shadows  go  by, 
And  dreaming  of  bliss  in  my  home  over  there ; 
I  asked  the  vision  if  on  that  side  the  shore 
True  peace  might  be  found,  and  it  said — "  evermore.1 

I  asked  the  vision,  robed  in  garments  of  white, 

Do  roses  fade  in  the  gardens  of  light, 

Or  cruel  storms  beat  in  the  lily's  pure  face, 

Or  the  lightning's  flash,  with  pencil  of  fire, 
On  the  pale  sweet  brow  of  the  violet,  trace 
Dark  lines  of  grief,  as  on  this  side  the  shore — 
The  sweet  voice  answered,  "oh,  no,  nevermore  !  " 

Then  I  asked  the  vision,  as  it  floated  along 
Trilling  musical  echoes  of  silvery  song, 
In  the  shining  city,  do  joys  ever  fade — 

Day  change  to  night,  and  our  smiles  to  tears, 
And  our  fondest  hopes  in  the  dust  be  laid, 
Or  wither  the  blossoms  we  fondly  wear ; 
Then  the  sweet  voice  answered,  "  oh,  no,  not  there  !  " 

Then  I  asked  the  vision  whence  it  came, 

And  what  was  its  mission,  and  what  its  name — 

When  lo,  for  an  answer,  it  only  smiled — 


IOO' 


But  it  leaned  on  my  breast  in  a  fond  caress, 
And  I  knew  'twas  the  form  of  my  angel  child, 
And  its  mission  would  be,  through  the  coming  years, 
To  soothe  my  sorrow  and  dry  my  tears. 


SILVERY  WAVES. 


[Music  arranged  by  Kimball,  published  by  S.  Brainard's  Sons,], 


Where  silvery  wavelets  flow, 

Wavelets  flow,  wavelets  flow  ; 

I'll  launch  my  bark  to-night — 

Darling  come  with  me. 
Beautiful  tints  of  the  rich  opal  sky, 
Dreaming  upon  their  fair  bosom  they  lie. 

You'll  hear  the  mermaid's  song, 

Happy  song,  happy  song ; 

I  shall  be  your  gondolier 

Safe  my  boat  shall  glide. 
Sorrow  no  longer  with  lingering  sway, 
Shall  from  my  life  take  its  bright  dreams  away. 

When  out  on  the  moonlit  sea, 

Moonlit  sea,  moonlit  sea ; 

Give  me  one  smile  of  love, 

Smile  of  love  divine. 

Give  me  the  answer  my  soul  longs  to  hear, 
Though  you  may  seal  it,  my  love,  with  a  tear. 


101  


AT  THE  GATE  I  WAIT  FOR  THEE. 


BELLE  MAHONE'S  REPLY. 


£Musicby  Mark  Havens,  published  by  S.  Brainard's  Sons.] 


At  the  gate  I  wait  for  thee, 
Come  my  loved  one,  come  to  me, 
Come  and  wander  where  the  flowers 
Fade  not  in  love's  rosy  bowers, 
Where  the  voice  of  love  is  true 
As  the  sky  of  blue. 

CHORUS: — Thy  Belle  Mahone, 
Thy  Belle  Mahone, 
Thine  forever,  thine  forever, 
Thy  Belle  Mahone. 

Garlands  I  will  weave  for  thee, 
Blossoms  from  life's  golden  tree; 
Buds  of  pure  and  spotless  white 
Kissed  by  Heavenly  light. 
Weep  not  darling,  I  shall  wait 
For  thee  at  the  shining  gate, 
Loved  one  weary  and  alone, 
Still  thy  Belle  Mahone. 

Heaven  without  thee  would  be  dark, 
Speed  thy  fairy-phantom  bark ; 


102 

When  thy  boat  shall  touch  the  strand 
I  shall  clasp  thy  hand 
And  fondly  fold  thee  to  my  heart, 
No,  nevermore  again  to  part, — 
God  will  bring  thee  safely  home 
To  thy  Belle  Mahone. 


UNDER  THE  ROOF-TREE. 


[Music  by  Sudds,  published  by  W.  F.  Shaw.] 


Under  the  roof- tree  we  gather  to-day, 
Brothers  and  sisters  from  homes  far  away  ; 
Children  are  with  us,  and  father  is  here, 
In  the  old  home,  in  the  old  home  so  dear. 
Changed  is  the  homestead,  but  memory  is  bright, 
Bringing  back  scenes  so  long  faded  from  sight ; 
Scenes  when  we  gathered  hope's  blossoming  flowers, 
Fresh  from  the  garden  of  life's  morning  hours. 

Though  we  are  happy,  yet  still  we  must  weep 
For  the  beloved  ones  who  silently  sleep — 
Sleep  where  the  marble  is  chilling  and  gray — 
Oh,  precious  loved  ones,  we  miss  you  to-day  ! 
Father  stands  waiting  so  near  to  the  shore, 
Mother  will  lovingly  welcome  him  o'er; 
Thus  comes  the  question  that  brings  our  hearts  pain, 
Shall  we  all  meet  in  the  old  home  again  ? 


-io3  — 

OUR    THANKSGIVING. 

NOVEMBER,  1886. 


Come,  friends  and  good  neighbors,  sit  down  with  us  here, 
While  we  talk  of  the  blessings  that  crowned  the  dead  year — 
The  year  that,  like  others,  fled  swiftly  away, 
But  bequeathed  as  a  legacy  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Sit  close  by  the  fireside  before  we  begin ; 
Let  the  rainstorm  without  reflect  comfort  within ; 
And,  dear  friends,  please  remember,  whatever  befall, 
There  is  sunshine  enough  in  the  world  for  us  all. 

To  avoid  being  tiresome  the  best  thing  to  do 

Is  to  outline  the  picture  that  conies  in  review 

In  each  mind,  and  be  sure  that  you  carefully  trace 

With  the  shadows  each  line  of  white  light  in  its  place. 

But  do  not  spare  the  brush  where  the  shadow  must  come ; 
You  will  like  the  work  better  when  thus  fairly  done — 
For  so  often  we  find  with  a  tearful  surprise, 
That  the  clouds  which  seemed  darkest  were  nearest  the  skies. 

Now,  dear  friends,  are  we  thankful  in  sickness  or  health — 
Quaffing  poverty's  cup,  or  the  vintage  of  wealth, 
Or  sometimes  amid  plenty,  if  we  should  complain, 
Do  we  know  that  thus  living  our  lives  are  in  vain  ? 

For  another  Thanksgiving,  we'll  set  out  anew — 
And  be  careful  to  keep,  as  an  object  in  view 


A  record,  with  day-book  and  ledger  at  hand, 

That  the  future  may  tell  how  the  balance  sheets  stand. 

If  your  brother  is  fainting  go  help  him  to  rise, 

Set  his  feet  in  the  pathway  that  leads  to  the  skies ; 

Call  the  good  angels  'round  you  with  voice  and  with  pen; 

For  the  angels  of  God  are  the  angels  of  men. 

Do  your  duty  whatever  your  duty  may  be, 

And  be  thankful  for  life,  'neath  the  flag  of  the  free ! 


FROM  THE  RILL  TO  THE  OCEAN. 


[The  author  introduces  this  poem,  it  being  among  the  first  written  by 
her  son,  Jay  VVirt  Kail.] 


Oh,  thou  tiny,  rippling  rill 
Coursing  down  yon  distant  hill, 
Splashing  up  in  silvery  spray, 
Onward  !  onward  !  every  day. 
Silently  you  form  a  brook, 
Receiving  streams  from  every  nook, 
Glittering  in  the  golden  light, 
You  have  peace,  yet  long  for  might. 

Not  contented  with  your  sway 
Still  more  turbulent  each  day, 
Thou  dost  foam  and  roll  and  surge 
Like  some  mournful,  tuneless  dirge. 


-105- 

As  a  maddened  steed  you  quiver, 
Dashing  onward  to  the  river, 
Where  you're  swallowed  out  of  sight 
Losing  freedom,  gaining  might. 

Now,  you'll  surely  be  content 

And  have  all  your  fury  spent ; 

But  you've  gained  the  river's  motion — 

Onward  !  onward  !  to  the  ocean. 

Ever  dark  and  restless  river 

Thou  dost  plunge  and  dash  and  quiver, 

Wearing  rocks  to  grains  of  sand, 

That  thyself  thou  mayst  expand. 

Onward  !  onward  !  oh,  dark  river, 
Like  an  arrow  from  a  quiver, 
Like  the  north  wind: — shrieking,  sighing- 
From  the  mountains  thou  art  flying. 
Like  a  proud  steed — madly  prancing — 
To  the  end  you're  wildly  dancing; 
Pausing  not  till  in  the  breast 
Of  the  ocean  you  find  rest. 

Onward!  onward!  plunging,  rearing j 
Swiftly  now  your  home  is  nearing. 
Hark !  you  hear  a  great  commotion — 
'Tis  the  moaning,  storm-tossed  ocean. 
Vainly  now  would  you  return 
Since  the  ocean  you  discern. 
Onward  !  onward  !  naught  can  save 
The  river  buried  'neath  the  wave. 


—  io6  — 

Thus  the  peaceful  rill  grew  sad, 
And  the  shining  brook  grew  mad, 
For  the  river's  ceaseless  motion 
Longed  and  pined  to  reach  the  ocean. 
But  at  last  they've  reached  the  sea — 
They  who  once  were  light  and  free 
Now  are  slaves  to  power  and  fame : 
Nothing  left  them  save  a  name. 


LINES  IN  A  YOUNG  LADY'S  ALBUM. 


Young  friend  this  world  to  you  must  be 

All  garlanded  with  roses, 
While  shining  pearls  so  fair  to  see 

Each  passing  day  discloses  ; 
For  you,  the  thrushes  sing  their  song 

With  strange  artistic  power, 
And  blessings  which  to  few  belong 

Crown  every  day  and  hour. 

But,  ah,  should  clouds  across  your  sky 

Obscure  the  gathered  sweetness — 
The  rainbow  arch  of  heaven  is  nigh 

With  all  its  grand  completeness ; 
And  tears — so  like  the  summer  rain 

That  soothes  the  weeping  flowers — 
Are  given  to  calm  our  souls  from  pain, 

And  bless  this  world  of  ours. 


VIOLETS. 

To  A  FRIEND. 

I  walked  out  in  the  open  fields  to-day 
To  while  from  care  a  lonely  hour  away, 
And  read  a  page  from  nature's  open  book, 
And  gather  violets  blooming  by  the  brook. 
The  violets  started  up  with  mute  surprise 
While  tears  of  sweetness  gathered  in  their  eyes. 

I  asked  the  precious  violets  why  those  tears, 
Does  life  to  you  bring  recompense  of  fears? 
It  seems  to  me  life  should  be  ever  sweet 
To  flowers  endowed  with  beauty  so  complete. 
The  brook  beside  you  sings  a  happy  song 
As  o'er  its  lowly  bed  it  floats  along. 

The  violets  pointed  up  toward  the  skies — 
A  deeper  blue  reflected  in  their  eyes — 
The  sun  had  kissed  the  tears  of  night  away 
And  opened  up  to  them  a  perfect  day. 
The  brooklet  whispered  low  a  sweet  refrain, 
Then  danced  across  the  meadow-land  again. 

Thus,  while  we  walk  in  life's  sequestered  way 
We  meet  with  human  violets  every  day ; 
Their  fond  hearts  aching  with  a  withering  blight, 
Their  eyes  o'erflowing  with  the  tears  of  night. 


—  loS  — 

But  when  through  faith  they  look  toward  the  skies, 
The  tears  of  sorrow  vanish  from  their  eyes. 

To  you,  dear  friend,  life  is  a  summer  day ; 
When  trials  come  love  kisses  them  away  ; 
You  have  not  suffered  sorrow's  wild  unrest ; 
God  wills  it  so,  and  what  He  does  is  best. 


CLARIBEL     LEE. 


[Music  by  Mark  Havens,  published  by  S.  Brainard's  Sons.] 


Breathe  softly  ye  night  winds  and  whisper, 

As  ye  float  o'er  the  dim  distant  sea; 
Go  bear  on  your  light  wings  a  message 
For  my  darling,  sweet  Claribel  Lee, 
Go  tell  her  my  heart  is  so  lonely — 
The  world  seems  a  dark  grave  to  me, 
And  though  sweet  be  the  music,  it  charms  not, 
In  the  absence  of  Claribel  Lee. 

There's  no  charm  for  the  heart  that  is  breaking, 

Nor  beauty  in  flower  or  tree  ; 
The  robin  in  vain  sings  to  soothe  me — 

While  I  mourn  for  my  Claribel  Lee. 
My  bark  is  approaching  the  river, 

When  my  heart,  prisoned  now,  shall  be  free ; 
Then  I'll  soar  on  the  wings  of  the  morning 

To  the  home  of  my  Claribel  Lee. 


— 109  — 

They  told  me,  my  darling  was  dying, 

And  they  folded  her  hands  on  her  breast, 
Then  I  knew,  tho'  they  said  she  was  sleeping, 

That  my  Claribel  Lee  was  at  rest. 
A  smile  o'er  her  brow  floated  sweetly, 

Holy  smile  !  it  was  only  for  me; 
And  through  life  shall  the  memory  linger 

Of  the  smile  of  my  Claribel  Lee. 

CHORUS. 

I  know  that  my  angel  is  waiting, 
That  above  she  is  waiting  for  me  ; 

Where  the  roses  immortal  are  blooming 
At  the  feet  of  my  Claribel  Lee. 


THE     PAUPER. 


I  stand  upon  the  grand  seashore, 

And  view  the  rocks  and  drifts  of  sand  ; 
The  deep  waves  plashing  o'er  and  o'er, 

Seem  like  a  voice  from  spirit-land  ; 
And  sea-weeds  bow  their  drooping  heads, 

And  dip  their  fingers  in  the  sea, 
While  reaching  down  its  golden  threads, 

The  sunlight  weaves  a  crown  for  me. 

A  magic  harp  of  thousand  strings 
Is  waked  to  life  by  angel  hands ; 


—  no  — 

A  choir  seraphic,  sweetly  sings 
The  music  of  immortal  lands ; 

Beneath  the  azure-tinted  sky, 
Old  ocean  moans  a  low  refrain, 

While  white-winged  beings  from  on  high 
Re-echo  back  the  song  again. 

Why  comes  to  me  a  dream  like  this — 

To  me,  a  pauper,  old  and  poor? 
While  life,  to  some,  brings  perfect  bliss, 

I  beg  my  bread  from  door  to  door ; 
Scorned  and  upbraided,  cast  aside — 

No  friend  to  wipe  my  tears  away ; 
None  fear  to  wound  my  helpless  pride, 

A  wanderer  by  night  and  day. 

Oft  in  the  blessed  Book  I  read 

That  mercy,  hope  and  love  are  free  j 
And  yet  I  fear,  while  here  I  plead, 

There  is  no  hope  for  such  as  me ; 
Doomed  !    I  am  doomed  to  suffer  pain ; 

Father  of  all,  thine  arm  make  bare, 
While  here  I  bow  and  call  Thy  name, 

Remove  this  withering  cup  of  care. 

If  I  could  sleep  beneath  the  sea, 

The  sea-weed  blooming  o'er  my  breast,. 

Where  no  false  dreams  could  come  to  me, 
To  mar  the  sweetness  of  my  rest. 


E'en  such  a  fate  were  better  far 

Than  life  with  all  its  blessings  flown, 

For  then,  perchance,  some  radiant  star 
Would  watch  beside  the  dead  unknown. 


OH,  SING  FOR  ME  A  SONG  TO-NIGHT. 


SONG. 
Oh,  sing  for  me  a  song  to-night, 

A  happy  song  of  the  olden  time ; 
Your  hand  so  pure  and  fair  my  love 

Can  touch  the  keys  with  a  power  divine 
My  darling,  sing  a  song  for  me, 
A  plaintive,  touching  melody. 

Oh,  sing  for  me  a  song  to-night 
With  brightness  in  the  mystic  flow ; 

With  memories  sweet  of  summer  days 
That  breathed  their  fragrance  long  ago. 

Then  smile  not  though  I  shed  a  tear 

O'er  scenes  that  seem  to  me  so  near. 

Oh,  sing  for  me  a  song  to-night, 
One  precious  song,  my  lady  fair, 

Of  years  when  life  and  hopes  were  gay, 
As  flowers  that  nestle  in  your  hair ; 

Untasted  then,  life's  wintry  stream, 

The  hours  were  all  a  passing  dream. 


BY  AND  BY  THE  ROSES  WITHER. 


£  Music  by  R.  Goerdeler,  published  by  S.  Brainard's  Sons.] 


By  and  by  the  roses  wither, 

By  and  by  the  leaves  with  fall, 
By  and  by  the  crimson  autumn 

Sheds  its  lustre  over  all ; 
By  and  by  our  hopes  will  brighten, 

Though  the  swallows  homeward  fly, 
And  false  friends  who  seem  to  love  us 

May  forget  us  by  and  by. 

By  and  by  the  rose  that  withers 

Shall  uplift  its  drooping  head, 
Awakened  from  its  slumbers 

By  an  angel's  gentle  tread  ; 
By  and  by  fond  hearts  be  broken 

That  have  never  known  a  sigh  ; 
Friendless  ones  with  joy  will  lighten 

In  the  coming  by  and  by. 

By  and  by  there  will  be  false  hearts, 

By  and  by  there  will  be  true ; 
Do  I  hear  you  say  you  doubt  it, 

If  you  do,  then,  why  do  you? 
By  and  by  bright  eyes  will  moisten 

When  beneath  the  turf  we  lie — 
There  will  still  be  those  who  love  us, 

In  the  silent  by  and  by. 


AT  CLOSE  OF  DAY. 


Above  the  towering  snow-crowned  hills, 

I  lift  my  enraptured  eyes  ; 
For  angel  hands  are  painting  there 

Heaven's  drapery  on  the  skies. 

The  sun  has  waved  a  proud  farewell, 
And  bowed  his  golden  crown  ; 

It  seems  to  me  that  angel  arms 
From  heaven  are  reaching  down. 

The  river  silently  and  slow 

Is  drifting  to  the  sea  ; 
A  holy  calm,  like  spirit  rest, 

Is  brooding  over  me. 

How  strangely  sweet  the  silence  falls 
O'er  field  and  wooded  hill ; 

No  spoken  words  of  gifted  tongue, 
Could  thus  my  being  fill. 

Bright  thoughts  and  beautiful  appear, 

My  soul  is  all  aglow ; 
I  heed  not  wail  of  winter  winds, 

Nor  touch  of  winter's  snow. 

Thus,  when  the  day  of  life  is  done 
And  death's  pale  mystery  here, 
The  soul  that  trusts  the  Master's  love 

Shall  neither  faint  nor  fear. 
8 


—  IT4— ' 


No  poet's  words  can  paint  the  scene 
That  waits  our  enraptured  eyes 

When  angel  hands  shall  open  wide 
The  gates  of  Paradise  ! 


I  WAS  WAITING  FOR  A  LETTER. 


SONG. 
I  was  waiting  for  a  letter ; 

And  the  postman  seemed  so  slow, 
When  I'd  hear  his  coming  footsteps 

To  some  other  house  h'd  go. 
When  I  saw  the  postman  passing 

Then  the  tears  would  fill  my  eyes — 
For  that  I  should  thus  be  waiting, 

Gave  my  heart  a  sad  surprise. 

CHORUS. — Repeat  four  last  lines. 

While  I  waited  for  my  letter, 

Ah,  the  days  became  so  long, 
For  my  soul  had  lost  its  brightness, 

And  my  lips  forgot  their  song ; 
Even  the  flowers  could  breathe  no  fragrance 

Or  no  kiss  of  joy  for  me, 
While  I  waited  for  a  letter 

From  my  lover  o'er  the  sea. — CHORUS. 


I  had  waited  for  my  letter 

Till  I  thought  my  hopes  were  vain ; 
But  to-day  I  saw  a  loving  face 

That  soothed  my  heart  of  pain ; 
And  a  voice — 'twas  not  the  postman's— 

Said,  "we've  just  returned  from  sea, 
And,  thank  Heaven,  I  find  my  darling 

Is  still  waiting  here  for  me." 

CHORUS. 

O  !  to-day  I  got  my  letter, 
And  my  soul  is  full  of  song, 

And  I  wonder  that  I  ever  thought 
The  summer  days  were  long. 


I'M  DREAMING  I'M  AN  INFANT. 


[Music  by  Karl  Merz.     Published  by  S.  Brainard's  Sons.] 


I'm  dreaming  I'm  an  infant 

Lulled  upon  my  mother's  breast — 
Mother's  bending  sweetly  o'er  me 

And  soothing  me  to  rest. 
In  prayer  I  hear  her  breathing, 

Father  take  this  child  of  mine, 
Fit  it  for  the  joys  of  heaven — 

Oh  !  make  it  wholly  thine. 


—  u6  — 

I  am  dreaming,  I  am  dreaming, 

Of  childhood's  happy  hour, 
When  I  watched  the  laughing  sunbeam 

Kiss  the  dew  from  off  the  flower  ; 
I  am  dreaming  of  the  lilies 

Down  at  the  river  side — 
Of  the  pearls  that  slept  beneath  them 

Washed  by  the  surging  tide. 

I  am  dreaming  of  the  churchyard 

Where  the  waving  willow  weeps ; 
Of  the  mound  beneath  its  branches 

Where  my  gentle  mother  sleeps  ; 
The  granite  in  its  grandeur 

In  my  waking  dreams  I  see, 
And  I  know  though  mother's  sleeping 

She  is  watching  over  me. 

.  % 
I  am  dreaming  of  the  diamonds 

In  life's  enamelled  chain, 
Of  the  pearls  I  clasped  so  fondly 

That  I  ne'er  shall  clasp  again  ; 
Of  the  jewels  in  hope's  casket, 

That  from  my  grasp  have  fled  ; 
I'll  not  pursue  them  farther — 

Earth's  brightest  hopes  are  dead. 

I  am  dreaming  now  of  heaven, 
Of  the  crowns  that  angels  wear, 


And  I  see  the  hopes  that  perished  here 

Forever  centered  there ; 
And  the  pearls  I  lost  are  gleaming 

On  the  bright  eternal  hill, 
And  mother  whispers  softly — 

Dearest  child  I  love  you  stil,!. 


MY  MOTHER'S  FLOWERS. 


SONG. 
I'm  walking  in  the  garden  paths 

To  breathe  the  evening  air ; 
I've  laid  aside  my  daily  toil 

My  sorrow  and  my  care. 
Around  me  gathered  are  my  friends, 

To  guile  the  lonely  hours — 
'Twas  mother's  hand  that  planted  them, 

Oh,  how  I  love  these  flowers. 

My  mother  dear  has  gone  to  rest, 

Her  smile  no  more  I  see  ; 
But  when  I  look  upon  her  flowers, 

Through  them  she  smiles  on  me, 
I  feel  her  hand  upon  my  head, 

Her  kiss  upon  my  brow — 
Oh  !  I  am  safe  from  worldly  care, 

For  mother's  with  me  now. 


—  n8  — 

Again  I  lisp  my  evening  prayer 

Before  I  go  to  sleep ; 
"  If  I  should  die  before  I  wake 

Pray  Lord  my  soul  to  keep." 
Then  softly  on  my  trundle-bed 

In  angel  arms  I  lay, 
And  the  sweet  words,  "child  go  to  sleep,' 

I  hear  my  mother  say. 

Now  on  the  far  immortal  shore, 

She  weaves  a  garland  fair, 
And  tells  me  if  I  follow  her 

I  may  that  garland  wear ; 
And  though  like  all  terrestrial  things 

I  soon  must  pass  away, 
My  mother's  flowers  my  path  shall  cheer 

Through  every  toiling  day. 


TELL  ME,  DARLING,  THAT  YOU  MISS  ME. 


SONG. 
Tell  me,  darling,  that  you  miss  me 

Where  the  evening  shadows  fall; 
Where  the  splendor  of  the  autumn 

Sheds  its  sweetness  over  all. 
When  the  purple  light  is  fading 

From  the  western  sky  away, 
And  the  lamps  of  heaven  are  lighted 

At  the  closing  of  day. 


Tell  me,  darling,  you  are  waiting 

For  the  coming  of  my  feet ; 
That  when  absent,  life  is  dreary, 

And  its  dreaming  incomplete ; 
That  no  lingering  voice  of  summer, 

Nor  the  autumn's  crimson  bloom, 
Can  awake  sweet  chords  of  pleasure 

Nor  your  heart  to  love  attune. 

O  ye  night  winds,  bear  a  message 

O'er  the  proudly  rolling  sea; 
Words  of  love  as  yet  unspoken — 

Kindly  whisper  them  to  me ; 
Tell  me  that  my  love  is  waiting — 

Of  the  fairest  the  most  fair, 
Where  the  autumn  tints  are  fading 

She  is  waiting  for  me  there. 


I'LL  DREAM  LOVE  OF  THEE. 


SONG. 
I'm  dreaming,  my  darling — 

I'm  dreaming  of  thee, 
When  sleeping  or  waking, 

By  land  or  by  sea  ; 
Should  darkness  and  sorrow 

Through  life  come  to  me, 
To  brighten  the  shadows, 

I'll  dream  love  of  thee. 


As  a  bird  of  the  spring-time 

Conceals  in  her  breast, 
When  soaring  away  to 

Her  leaf-hidden  nest, 
The  song  that  so  sweetly 

She  sings  from  the  tree, 
I  dream  of  my  darling — 

I  dream  love  of  thee. 

Sometimes  in  my  dreaming, 

Beside  thee  I  stand, 
I  feel  the  soft  touch  of 

Your  lily-pure  hand ; 
And  glory  surpassing 

The  blue  of  the  skies 
Illumines  my  soul  from 

Your  heavenly  eyes. 

And  thus  while  your  kisses 

Are  tender  and  sweet, 
With  passionate  pleading 

I  bow  at  thy  feet ; 
The  answer  of  fate  that 

Your  lips  would  conceal, 
Your  smiles  and  your  blushes 

Can  only  reveal. 

In  some  fairy  bower, 
In  sweet  summer-time, 

I  know  I  shall  claim  thee 
Forever  as  mine, 


121 


Till  then,  through  life  toiling 
My  pleasure  shall  be 

To  dream  of  my  darling — 
To  dream  love  of  thee. 


JENNIE  VERNON. 


[  Jennie  Vernon,  a  beautiful  child,  whose  father  was  killed  in  battle, 
presented  Col.  Lansing  a  garland  of  flowers  with  the  request  that 
they  be  placed  on  a  rebel  soldier's  grave.] 


Day  was  drawing  near  its  close, 

Lilies  and  violets  going  to  sleep  ; 
The  robin  was  singing  her  vesper  hymn, 

When  I  heard  the  patter  of  fairy  feet ; 
I  saw  'twas  a  child  divinely  fair 

With  deep  blue  eyes  so  sweet  and  mild ; 
But  precious,  sacred,  holy  tears 

Dimmed  the  eyes  of  the  fairy  child. 

She  seemed  an  angel  sent  from  Heaven 

With  a  balm  to  sooth  each  aching  heart, 
To  cool  the  fevered  scorching  brain 

And  words  of  truth  and  life  impart. 
To  banish  all  coroding  cares 

And  soothe  the  suffering  mourner's  tears; 
To  link  in  love's  immortal  chain, 

Our  souls,  and  brighten  all  the  years. 


122 

She  held  aloft  a  garland  fair, 

Just  gathered  from  an  odorous  dell, 
Where  dew-drops  kiss  the  blushing  leaves 

And  evening  zephyrs  their  music  tell. 
She  spoke — I  paused  entranced  to  hear — 

"  Lay  this  wreath  on  a  rebel  soldier's  grave, 
I  love  them  all,  my  father  sleeps 

Where  orange  blossoms  o'er  him  wave. 

Perhaps  some  child  of  the  sunny  south 

Will  drop  on  father's  grave  a  tear, 
Or  plant  a  flower  to  mark  the  spot 

Where  lies  the  form  to  me  so  dear." 
Oh  Father  !  let  thy  will  be  done, 

Let  childhood's  lips  perfect  thy  praise ; 
Oh,  light  of  Heaven,  illume  our  souls — 

Speed  on  the  bright  and  happy  days. 

When  bound  by  friendship's  golden  chain, 

A  band  of  brothers  we  shall  be  ; 
When  malice  crushed  to  earth  shall  die 

And  freedom's  flag  float  o'er  the  free. 
Then  we  shall  blend  with  kindred  lights, 

Who've  passed  before  to  Heaven  above, 
And  breathe  a  soul  refreshing  air 

Perfumed  by  censers  filled  with  love. 


-123  — 
SUMMER  NIGHT. 


Oh,  summer  night,  divinely  bright, 
Resting  in  Luna's  silver  light; 
While  by  her  side,  one  glittering  star 
Directs  my  wandering  thoughts  afar. 

Thy  shadows  steal  and  hopes  reveal 
Which  only  trusting  souls  can  feel ; 
While  worshipping  before  thy  shrine ; 
Oh  make  these  joys  forever  mine. 

In  evening  hours,  thy  sylvan  showers, 
Fall  as  the  dew  upon  the  flowers ; 
While  o'er  the  shadowy  wildwood  dell, 
Soft  falls  the  notes  of  vesper  bell. 

Around  my  feet  pale  violets  sleep ; 
With  loving  hearts  the  roses  weep, 
And  greet  me  with  a  fond  caress 
While  blessing  with  their  tenderness. 

Oh,  summer  night,  with  radiant  light 
The  dewdrops  showering  crystals  bright, 
And  fire-flies  flitting  through  the  glade 
Dispense  at  once  both  light  and  shade. 

Sweet  summer  night,  so  fair  and  bright, 
Encircling  me  with  holy  light 
Thy  smiles,  my  darkest  hour  can  cheer — 
Joy  reigns  supreme  when  thou  art  near. 


—  124  — 


THE  MUSIC  OF  TEARS. 


The  wind  hath  a  low,  sad  voice,  to-night, 

As  I  dream  of  departed  years ; 
The  wail  of  the  breeze,  as  it  floats  thro'  the  trees, 

Is  the  mystical  music  of  tears. 
Each  echoing  throb,  like  the  heart-felt  sob 

Of  a  soul  over-burdened  with  grief, 
That  can  only  find,  to  the  wearied  mind, 

In  the  music  of  tears,  relief. 

The  wind  hath'  a  tender  voice,  to-night, 

As  it  sweeps  over  last  year's  leaves, 
All  covered  with  snow,  and  it  whispers  low, 

Of  the  grain  and  the  golden  sheaves 
That  will  soon  appear,  for  the  harvest  year 

Is  dawning  all  over  our  land  ; 
When  the  silver  light  of  the  sickle  bright 

Shall  gleam  in  the  reaper's  hand. 

Oh  !  the  wonderful  keys  of  the  wind,  to-night, 

Are  touched  by  a  master  hand, 
And  the  plaint  refrain  is  echoed  again 

By  a  melody  deep  and  grand  ; 
And  the  silvery  song  as  it  floats  along, 

Giveth  hope  for  the  coming  years; 
For  the  roseate  glory  of  smiling  morn 
Of  the  gloom  and  the  darkness  of  night  is  born, 

I  have  heard  thro'  the  music  of  tears. 


-I25  — 

SEND    ME 


HYMN. 
The  harvest  work  is  truly  great, 

Though  laborers  are  few; 
Yet  ail  who  have  a  will  to  work 

Can  find  a  work  to  do. 
Oh,  give  me  then  some  humble  place, 

Thy  love  my  guide  shall  be, 
And  where  the  path  of  duty  leads, 

My  Father,  pray  send  me  ! 

I  would  not  from  the  mountain-top 

Look  down  upon  the  vale ; 
For  should  I  strive  the  hill  to  climb, 

E'en  there  my  strength  might  fail ; 
But  I  would  launch  my  fragile  bark 

Out  on  life's  stormy  sea, 
And  ask  of  Him  who  rules  the  storm, 

My  Father,  pray  send  me  ! 

Oh,  may  my  life  show  forth  Thy  praise 

Each  day  and  every  hour ; 
Oh,  give  me  grace  to  trust  my  all 

To  Heaven's  almighty  power  ! 
Though  sorrows  compass  me  about, 

My  soul  shall  cling  to  Thee  ; 
And  plead  from  out  the  gathering  storm, 

My  Father,  pray  send  me  ! 


126 


I  AM  WEARY,  OH,  MY  FATHER. 


HYMN. 
I  am  weary,  oh,  my  Father, 

My  Father  I  would  rest ; 
Oh,  let  me  lean  my  aching  head, 

Upon  Thy  loving  breast. 
Surrounded  by  temptation, 

By  trial  and  by  pain, 
I  only  can  be  comforted 

By  trusting  in  Thy  name. 

This  world  is  very  beautiful, 

E'en  here,  the  angels  sing; 
They  tell  us  of  our  Father's  love 

The  happy  tidings  bring, — 
But  death  is  here,  and  steals  away 

The  dearest  and  the  best  ; 
The  polished  marble  marks  the  spot 

Where  our  beloved  ones  rest. 

The  rose,  in  all  its  conscious  pride, 

Is  circled  by  its  thorns — 
'Tis  thus  the  sunshine  of  our  lives 

Is  shaded  by  life's  storms. 
But  when  we  lean  upon  Thy  breast 

We  see  the  golden  light, 
And  clouds  sometimes  so  threatening 

Descend  in  blessings  bright. 


—  127  — 


SOFTLY  AND  LOW. 


Softly  and  low  good  angels  weep, 
Guarding  o'er  those,  who  silent  sleep; 
Softly  the  gentle  whisperings  come : 
Pilgrim,  oh,  hasten  to  thy  home. 

Softly  and  low  red  roses  bloom, 
Shedding  their  fragrance  o'er  the  tomb; 
Then  tenderly  blushing  they  pass  away, 
Short  lived  beauties  of  a  day. 

Softly  and  low  life's  dream  is  told, 
Through  unseen  chords  on  harps  of  gold 
While  hidden  fingers  sweep  the  strings 
Our  heart  the  answering  echo  sings. 

Softly  and  low  at  evening  floats, 
Over  the  Alpine  hills,  sweet  notes ; 
Labor  all  ended  and  sins  confessed, 
Weary,  the  shepherds  go  home  to  rest. 

Softly  and  low  the  years  go  by — 
Yet  who  can  tell  from  whence  they  fly? 
This  we  do  know,  that  they  leave  their  trace 
Of  hope  and  sorrow  on  every  face. 


—  128  — 


TO  MY  BRIDE  OF  THIRTY  YEARS. 


To  MR.  AND  MRS.  V.  P.  W. 
With  friends  and  children  we  have  met, 

Around  the  ingleside, 
To  celebrate  the  happy  day 

When  you  became  my  bride. 
Oh  !  can  it  be  that  thirty  years 

H.ave  with  their  blessing  fled? 
And  can  it  be  that  friends  we  loved, 

Are  numbered  with  the  dead  ? 

It  seems  to  me  but  yesterday 

Since  you  were  young  and  fair  ; 
Your  cheeks  were  pink  as  apple  bloom 

'Mid  springtime's  fragrant  air. 
I  loved  you  then,  I  love  you  still, 

My  heart  is  yours  alone — 
For  through  the  years  your  smile  has  blest 

And  sanctified  our  home. 

My  thoughts  go  back  and  life  appears 

A  fitful  summer  dream  ; 
How  strange  that  we  have  glided  down 

So  far  along  life's  stream. 
And  yet  our  Father's  loving  hand 

Has  led  us  on  aright ; 
With  just  enough  of  sorrow's  clouds 

To  make  life's  sunshine  bright. 


—  129  — 

While  we  beside  the  festal  board 

Our  loving  vows  renew, 
We'll  ask  for  grace  to  make  us  strong 

To  walk  life's  journey  through. 
Though  autumn  winds  have  strewn  our  path 

With  summer's  faded  leaves, 
The  golden  grain  of  harvest  time 

Is  gathered  with  the  sheaves. 

We  know  not  what  the  years  may  bring, 

But  this  we  understand  : 
Beyond  the  sea  of  life  appears 

The  blissful  summer  land, 
Where  spring-time  blossoms  never  fade, 

Nor  summer  flowers  decay  ; 
There  angel  hands  shall  open  wide 

The  gates  of  perfect  day. 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  NAME  THE  BABY? 


What  shall  we  name  the  baby  ? 

Our  darling  and  our  pride  ; 
With  pink  hands  softly  folded 

She  nestles  by  our  side. 
Violet,  because  the  violet's  blue 
Speaketh  the  language,  "ever  true. 
9 


Or  shall  we  name  her  Lilly, 

This  precious  babe  of  ours — 
We  always  call  the  lily     . 

The  fairest  of  the  flowers — 
Its  shining  petals  speak  to  me 
The  noble  language,  purity. 

Then  we  might  name  her  Daisy ; 

For  in  the  early  spring 
The  daisy  wakes  from  pleasant  dreams 

To  hear  the  robin  sing, 
And  speaks  from  out  its  laughing  eyes, 
"  True  beauty  never,  never  dies." 

Then  Snowdrop  would  be  pretty  ; 
*  For  with  a  gentle  grace, 
Carnation  and  the  snowdrop 

Are  blended  in  her  face. 
To  it  the  language  has  been  given, 
"Forget-me-not,"  and  "thoughts  of  heaven." 

But  why  not  call  her  Pansy  ? 

The  pansy's  purple  hair, 
Is  crowned  by  a  rich  jewel 

Such  as  a  queen  might  wear. 
Its  language  shall  our  darling's  be — 
"  Sweet  be  thy  dreams  and  dream  of  me." 

Or  Rosebud — though  soon  withered, 
We  may  not  call  them  dead  ; 


-131- 

When  their  pure  leaves  are  faded, 

They  sweetest  incense  shed. 
Of  virtues,  roses  speak  of  three — 
"Love,  innocence  and  constancy." 

God  bless  our  baby  blossom  ! 

Angels  of  peace  and  love 
Guard  o'er  our  priceless  treasure, 

Good  angels  from  above. 
We  know  when  life's  brief  dream  is  past, 
Our  flower  shall  bloom  in  heaven  at  last. 


GLOOMY  WEATHER. 


Oh,  dark,  dull  days, — 

No  summer  sunshine  dancing 
Across  the  fields 

To  music  soul-entrancing. 
The  robin  folds 

His  wings  of  painted  glory ; 
The  dove  has  ceased 

To  tell  her  plaintive  story. 

Fair  flowers  of  June 

Have  lost  their  magic  sweetness; 
And  trees  bow  down 

Their  drapery  of  completeness. 


-133- 

All  nature  mourns, — 

For  skies  are  dull  with  weeping ; 
Its  blue  eyes  closed 

The  meadow  violet's  sleeping. 

Though  June  may  wear 

Her  bridal  veil  in  sorrow, 
Nature  gives  hope 

For  brightness  on  the  morrow. 
By  faith  we  learn — 

The  hidden  source  divining — 
That  far  beyond  the  gloom, 

Heaven's  light  is  shining. 


AN  AUTUMN  REVERY. 


Oh,  thou  royal  autumn  day, 
Drifting  from  my  sight  away, 
While  your  banners  blue  and  gold, 
Draped  with  crimson  in  each  fold, 
Seem  to  say  as  you  pass  by,  — 
Earth  recedes,  but  heaven  is  nigh, 
And  with  sunlight  dropping  low 
Earth  and  heaven  are  aglow. 

Nature's  harps  are  all  in  tune, 
Just  as  when  the  leafy  June 


Came,  all  garlanded  with  flowers 
Gathered  from  the  woodland  bowers ; 
When  her  violet  covered  feet 
Lightly  danced,  where  roses  sweet 
Softly  blushed,  with  new-born  grace, 
At  the  summer  queen's  embrace. 

Now  the  Hallow-e'en  is  nigh. 
When  the  maiden,  with  a  sigh, 
Asks  the  book  of  fate  unrolled 
Will  her  destiny  be  told  ; 
Will  her  lover,  brave  and  true, 
Look  through  eyes  of  brown  or  blue  ; 
Will  the  voice  of  coming  years 
Bring  her  smiles,  or  bring  her  tears. 

Ah,  sweet  maiden,  for  your  fate 
On  life's  threshold  do  not  wait ; 
But  from  all  life's  budding  flowers 
Gather  strength  for  later  hours ; 
For  the  joy  that  blooms  to-day 
May  to-morrow  fade  away  ; 
But  through  life  remember  this, 
Heaven  is  love,  and  love  is  bliss. 


—  134  — 


COLD,  MY  DARLING. 


Cold,  my  darling,  lie  the  shadows 

Out  upon  the  snow-robed  lea, 
And  the  wind  with  mournful  music 

Sweeps  in  grandeur  from  the  sea. 
Cold,  so  cold  the  darkening  shadows 

Where  the  wreaths  of  autumn  lay, 
And  the  pretty  blue-eyed  violet 

Sweetly  breathed  its  life  away. 

Cold  my  darling,  cold  and  quiet ; 

Silent  is  rhe  robin's  trill ; 
Nature  shows  no  sign  of  gladness — 

Even  the  brooklet's  voice  is  still. 
Trust  me,  darling,  though  the  shadows 

Deepen  on  life's  stormy  sea, 
For  I  know  glad  days  of  brightness 

Wait  my  love  for  you  and  me. 

Joy  !  the  glorious  dawn  is  breaking, 

See  the  red  light  in  the  skies, 
And  the  golden  day  reflected 

In  the  splendor  of  your  eyes. 
Cold,  my  darling — never,  never 

Love's  sweet  flower  that  blooms  for  you; 
And  though  dreams  of  joy  may  perish 

Still  believe  me  ever  true. 


-135  — 
GIVE  ME  BACK  MY  CHILDHOOD. 


Give  me  back  my  childhood's 

Sunshine  and  its  shade ; 
Let  me  romp  again 

'Mid  the  flowers  of  the  glade; 
Let  me  gather  garlands — 

Roses  bright  and  fair — 
Twine  the  scarlet  maple  leaves 

In  my  shining  hair. 

Take  me  to  the  valley 

Where  the  violets  sleep ; 
Let  me  kiss  the  tears  from 

The  lilies  when  they  weep; 
Let  me  watch  the  primrose 

Smile  with  dreaming  eyes, 
When  the  stars  of  evening 

Wake  with  sweet  surprise. 

Give  me  back  my  childhood — 

Life's  immortal  day  ! 
When  the  glory  of  a  flower 

Smooths  life's  cares  away; 
When  each  chord  of  music 

Wakes  a  sweet  refrain. 
Ah,  can  it  be  we  may  not  know 

Such  days  of  joy  again. 


— 136  — 


LIFE  IS  SHORT  AND  DEATH  IS  NEAR. 


Life  is  short  and  death  is  near, 
Lo,  the  golden  moments  flying, 

Whisper  as  they  disappear, 

Passing  hours  are  swiftly  dying. 

Whisper,  as  they  float  along, 

Crowned  with  summer's  royal  sweetness, 

Hearken  to  our  trembling  song — 
Years,  are  days,  in  full  completeness. 

Days  o'erclouded  by  the  night, 

Days  of  woe,  and  days  of  sorrow, 
Days  without  a  sunbeam  bright, 

Hopeless  for  the  coming  morrow  ; 
Days  when  hearts  were  bending  low, 

Weary  with  their  weight  of  weeping ; 
Cheeks  were  pale  as  drifted  snow 

'Neath  the  storms  of  winter  sleeping. 

Days  that  brought  a  tranquil  joy, 

And  the  weary  heart  grew  lighter ; 
Days  that  knew  not  pain's  alloy — 

Heaven  was  near  and  earth  was  brighter. 
Days  made  pure  by  deeds  of  love, 

And  we  knew  that  God  intended 
Thus  to  lift  our  souls  above, 

When  the  davs  of  toil  are  ended. 


—  137  — 

Life  is  short  and  death  is  near, 
Labor  for  the  Master's  reaping; 

Soon  the  harvest  shall  appear — 
'  Let  no  soul  be  idly  sleeping, 

Soon  the  Saviour's  voice  shall  say 
Unto  thee  a  crown  is  given  ; 

Welcome  to  the  gates  of  day, 
Welcome  to  a  home  in  heaven. 


IN  THE  GARDEN. 


One  day  in  my  garden  I  found  a  blush  rose, 

All  bright  with  the  dew  of  the  sky, 
And  while  gently  I  saw  its  soft  petals  unclose, 

Then  I  knew  that  the  summer  was  nigh. 

But  at  noontime  my  rose  bowed  its  beautiful  head, 
For  the  sun  had  been  strong  and  severe — 

And  at  even  from  its  bosom  the  petals  had  fled 
And  its  fond  heart  was  moist  with  a  tear. 

But  around  me  there  floated  a  fragrance  so  sweet, 
As  the  rose  sighed  away  its  last  breath  ; 

Then  I  knew  that  in  glory  its  life  was  complete, 
While  it  passed  through  the  shadow  of  death. 

Like  the  rose  from  my  garden  our  lives  pass  away , 
And  the  work  of  our  destiny's  done  ; 

But  beyond  the  blue  arch  of  heaven's  glorified  day, 
Our  lives  shall  be  truly  begun. 


-138- 
INTO  THE  FIELDS  WITH  GOLDEN  GRAIN. 


Into  the  fields  with  golden  grain, 

A  sower  went  one  day  to  sow ; 
He  scattered  wheat,  that  sun  and  rain 

Might  help  the  fruitful  germs  to  grow. 
Then  he  prayed  that  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  would  come 
And  bless  the  good  work  his  hands  had  done. 

Some  of  the  precious  golden  seed 

Fell  on  the  dusty  barren  way, 
And  fowls  of  the  air,  in  their  hungry  need, 

Came  and  bore  the  good  seed  away. 
And  with  anguish  deep  and  sorrowing  pain 
The  sower  wept  that  his  work  was  vain. 

Some  of  the  grains  of  wheat  had  found 

Beneath  the  sun's  o'erpowering  ray, 
Root  where  the  rocks  and  stones  abound, 

And  they  withered  at  close  of  day. 
Then  the  sower  wept  in  his  deep  despair, 
To  find  that  at  harvest  no  wheat  was  there. 

Seed  that  was  sown  amid  blossoming  flowers, 

Grew  in  the  crimson  morning  light ; 
But  weeds  came  up  in  a  few  short  hours 

And  hid  the  good  wheat  from  his  sight. 
Then  the  sower  exclaimed  that  his  work  was  vain, — 
But  he  toiled  and  trusted  the  Master's  name. 


—  139  — 

After  the  passing  of  many  years — 

Behold  !  a  rich  harvest  of  golden  wheat ; 

Then  the  sower  knew — though  he  sowed  in  tears, 
That  his  work  was  now  all  complete. 

Thus  shall  the  harvest  of  life  be  well, 

If  we  work  and  wait — as  the  years  will  tell. 


BITTER  WINE. 


In  youth  I  dreamed  a  dream,  'twas  wondrous  fair; 
Around  me  flowers  were  blooming  everywhere, 
And  roseate  clouds  sailed  slowly  in  the  sky, 
Their  glowing  banners  floating  from  on  high. 

A  river,  dancing  on  from  day  to  day, 

Entwined  the  shore  with  wreaths  of  crystal  spray, 

While  floating  out  their  white  wings  overhead 

To  catch  the  perfumed  breeze  broad  sails  were  spread. 

Birds  sang  sweet  songs  and  each  ecstatic  trill 
Awoke  sweet  chords  that  made  my  being  thrill ; 
I  asked  my  heart  amid  the  enchanting  bliss — 
If  heaven  could  be  a  happier  place  than  this. 

The  world  seemed  pure,  I  little  understood 
That  but  for  selfish  ends  the  world  is  good. 
Thus  in  my  dream,  so  strangely  incomplete, 
I  pressed  life's  roses — smiling  at  my  feet. 


—  140  — 

When  my  long  cherished  dream  dissolved  away 
I  woke  to  find  my  idols  were  but  clay ; 
In  vain  I  asked  of  my  deluded  mind, 
Where  are  the  joys  which  now  I  cannot  find  ? 

Ah,  would  that  I  had  earlier  learned  to  know 
That  bitter  wine  must  in  life's  chalice  flow. 
Though  rich  the  promise  of  the  vintage  time, 
Some  unripe  clusters  bring  forth  bitter-wine. 

Then  press  with  willing  lips  life's  mystic  bowl ; 
The  bitter  wine  makes  strong  the  fainting  soul. 
Life  is  a  problem,  which  when  understood 
Reveals  alike  the  evil  and  the  good. 


CAST    OFF. 


I  saw  her  in  her  bridal  robes, 

The  shimmering  lace  adorning ; 
She  knew  not  that  mad  love  for  him 

Within  my  soul  was  burning. 
She  dreamed  not,  that  to  my  proud  lips 

Love's  chalice  he  presented, 
And  though  I  dashed  the  wine  away, 

I  ever  had  repented. 


I  thought,  that  he  would  come  again, 

His  wealth  of  love  revealing, 
And  I  would  deign  to  smile  on  him 

My  own  deep  love  concealing. 
He  only  said,  "  the  wound  to  heal 

Shall  be  my  life's  endeavor ; 
Remember,  if  we  part  to-night, 

That  it  shall  be  forever." 

Long  years  had  passed,  he  did  not  come  j 

One  evening  by  the  river — 
I  met  a  noble  manly  form : 

It  was  my  absent  lover. 
No  words  of  tenderness  he  spoke 

To  show  a  heart  relenting ; 
Though  on  my  knees  I  wildly  told 

Him,  of  my  soul's  repenting. 

"You  are  too  late,"  he  coldly  said, 

"The  truth  I  will  not  smother  ; 
The  love,  that  might  have  once  been  thine, 

Is  given  to  another." 
Now,  at  my  feet  the  arrows  fall 

From  hope's  immortal  quiver — 
Unloved,  unsought,  ah,  woe  is  me, 

I  am  cast  off  forever. 


—  142  — 


THEN  LIFE  WERE  WORTH  THE  LIVING. 


Although  my  tasks  are  hard  to  bear, 

Yet  I  am  often  singing 
The  merry  chimes  of  rythmic  song 

That  in  my  soul  are  ringing ; 
And  while  each  day  new  duty  brings, 

Within  my  soul  is  stealing 
A  voice,  to  wake  the  sleeping  chords 

Of  deep  poetic  feeling. 

I  wonder  why  my  life  is  blest 

By  such  enchanting  sweetness — 
For  wealth,  or  fame,  could  never  bring 

Such  gems  of  rare  completeness ; 
And  yet,  sometimes,  I  fain  would  sigh 

And  stoop  to  weak  repining ; 
Poor  foolish  heart,  too  blind  to  see 

The  glory  round  me  shining. 

While  thus  I  mused,  and  thus  I  toiled, 
Throughout  the  passing  hours ; 

I  went  one  day,  that  I  might  hold 
Sweet  converse  with  the  flowers. 

White  clouds  were  sailing  in  the  sky; 

A  robin's  voice  was  singing ; 
A  cypress  on  the  garden  path 

Its  scarlet  bells  was  flinging. 


-143- 

Ah,  stately  cypress — thus  I  said — 
Bright  queen  of  floral  beauty ; 

A  lesson  I  have  learned  of  you ; 
A  sermon  on  life's  duty. 

I  see  your  queenly  head  is  crowned 

With  summer's  royal  splendor, 
And  yet  with  all  your  stately  life 

Your  heart  is  pure  and  tender. 
There's  not  a  daisy  at  your  feet 

Too  low  for  your  caressing ; 
To  each  you  cast  a  shining  crown 

And  give  it  with  your  blessing. 

And  this — methinks  I  hear  you  say 

Though  soon  my  life  must  perish, 
I  care  not,  if  the  humblest  flower 

One  act  of  mine  shall  cherish  ; 
One  little  deed  of  kindness  done 

With  pure,  unselfish  giving  ; 
One  mourner  blest,  one  heart  made  glad, 

Then  life  were  worth  the  living. 


—  144- 


ONLY  A  WOMAN'S  SMILE. 


Only  a  woman's  smile — did  I  say — 

But  my  heart  with  its  throbbing  pain 
Grows  light  as  the  balmy  breeze  that  floats, 

And  memory  is  young  again. 
Before  me  sweet  visions  of  beauty  rise, 

And  forgotten  is  my  despair — 
While  the  holy  light  of  a  woman's  smile 

Is  blended  with  all  my  care. 

Only  a  woman's  smile — but  the  stars 

Bow  down  their  golden  heads, 
To  listen  to  woman's  magic  voice, 

And  to  kiss  the  earth  she  treads. 
The  world  would  be  only  a  dreary  waste — 

A  sad,  unbroken  wild — 
No  light,  no  love,  no  joy,  no  hope 

Had  woman  never  smiled. 

Only  a  woman's  smile — but  it  lives 

Through  all  the  long  dead  years ; 
For  there's  nothing  can  equal  a  woman's  smile 

Save  only  a  woman's  tears. 
Woman  can  make  the  most  humble  home 

As  bright  as  the  portals  of  heaven ; 
The  comforting  power  to  bless  human  hearts 

Unto  woman's  charmed  life  has  been  given. 


OUR  ANGEL  WATCHERS. 


Our  dear  departed  loved  ones 

Oh,  are  they  ever  near, 
To  touch  the  throbbing  chords  of  love 

And  see  the  falling  tear. 
Do  they  whisper  of  a  better  home 

Beyond  this  world  of  pain  ; 
Do  they  gently,  oh  so  gently 

Fold  us  in  their  arms  again. 

Do  we  think,  because  we  laid  them 

'Neath  the  violets  down  to  sleep  ; 
Where  roses  of  the  summer-time 

Their  tears  of  sadness  weep  ; 
And  though,  that  we  in  vain  must  wait 

Their  coming  at  the  door — 
Do  we  think  that  we  shall  never  see 

Our  angel  watchers  more. 

They  are  chanting ;  they  are  chanting 
Happy  songs  of  love  divine — 

Oh,  I  often  hear  the  voices 

Of  those  precious  friends  of  mine  ; 

The  echo  of  the  music 

Floats  across  the  distant  stream, 

I  hear  it  in  my  waking  hours 

And  hear  it  when  I  dream. 
10 


• — 146  — 

And  when  my  heart  is  lonely, 

And  for  a  balm  .would  seek, 
My  precious  angel  watchers 

Fond  words  of  comfort  speak. 
And  then  my  soul  takes  courage 

As  o'er  my  senses  thrill 
Such  words  of  blissful  melody 

As  only  they  can  trill. 


ANOTHER  YEAR. 


My  roses  failed  to  bloom  for  me  this  year, 

In  vain  I  waited  their  unfolding  charms ; 

Vile  worms  with  traitorous  hearts  destroyed  the  leaves 

Of  the  fair  buds  smiling  beneath  the  eaves, 

And  lifting  at  blissful,  holy  hour  of  prayer 

Their  incense  sweet  upon  the  evening  air. 

Ah,  they  may  smile  again,  my  heart  to  cheer 

Another  year,  in  joy  another  year. 

My  pansies,  children  of  most  loving  care, 
Their  bright  eyes  sparkling  with  the  morning  dew, 
The  sweet  expression  of  each  beaming  face, 
The  birthplace  of  a  more  exquisite  grace ; 
In  them  I  hoped  my  joy  would  be  complete, 
But  found  them  withered  blossoms  at  my  feet, 
The  jewels  faded  in  their  purple  hair. 
Yet,  they  may  bless  my  life  another  year. 


—  147- 

I  built  a  ship  and  sent  it  out  to  sea, 

Freighted  with  deeds  of  kindness  for  the  friends  I  love ; 

Some  cruel  light-house  with  its  glittering  ray 

Allured  my  gilded  bark  from  me  away — 

Its  precious  cargo  hidden  out  of  sight, 

My  deeds  of  kindness  all  are  unrequite. 

Another  year  my  ship  may  sail  for  me  ; 

Another  year,  ah  yes,  another  year. 

Hope's  wing  is  broken,  but  it  is  not  dead — 

Trusting,  it  soars  aloft  to  realms  above, 

And  hope  that  faded  with  departed  years 

Shall  rise  immortal — though  it  be  in  tears. 

For  ah,  perchance,  false  friends  may  yet  be  true, 

All  this,  even  more,  another  year  may  do. 

For  me  life's  ripening  harvest  shall  be  sweet, 

Though  seeds  my  hands  have  sown  seem  incomplete. 

'Tis  winter  now,  but  summer-time  is  near, 

With  golden  fruitage  of  another  year. 


THRICE  WEDDED. 


I  am  dreaming  of  my  darling, 
And  the  days  that  long  are  past, 

Sever  not  the  blissful  seeming — 
All  too  bright  and  pure  to  last ; 


—  148- 

For  the  long  forgotten  memories   • 
Into  deathless  blossoms  grow — 

As  before  me  floats  the  vision 
Of  my  love  of  long  ago. 

Softly  breathe,  O  blushing  roses, — 

Hold  your  breath  of  fragrance  sweet, 
Lest  your  breathing  wake  my  slumber 

And  my  dream  be  incomplete. 
Cease  your  warbling,  robin -redbreast ; 

Thrushes  chant  your  matins  low, 
Let  me  hear  the  old,  old  story 

From  my  love  of  long  ago. 

In  the  rosy  hours  of  spring-time 

I  had  given  her  my  heart, 
But  a  fate  both  stern  and  cruel 

Bade  our  paths  lie  far  apart. 
Only  in  the  great  hereafter 

I  may  learn  why  this  was  so — 
Why,  through  life  I  have  been  parted 

From  my  love  of  long  ago. 

Though  three  times  I  have  been  wedded, 

And  each  time  I  thought  my  wife 
Was  the  best  of  noble  women, 

And  the  glory  of  my  life. 
Though  my  eyes  have  lost  their  brightness, 

And  my  head  is  crowned  with  snow. 
Yet  I  never  have  forgotten, 

MV  beloved  of  long  ago. 


—  149  — 


BRIGHTNESS. 


The  world  is  full  of  beauty, 

Of  gold  and  crimson  light] 
Break  not  the  blissful  dreaming 

That  charms  my  soul  to-night. 
My  heart  is  wildly  throbbing 

With  joy,  akin  to  pain — 
Spare  me;  break  not  the  mystic  spell, 

Oh,  sever  not  the  chain. 

Dance  on,  oh  rippling  waters 

Across  the  rock-bound  strand  ; 
Laugh  at  the  poisoned  chalice 

That  grief  holds  in  her  hand  ; 
I'll  take  from  joy  the  gilded  cup 

And  quaff  the  sparkling  wine, 
Fresh  from  the  purple  clusters 

Just  gathered  from  the  vine. 

'Twas  pain,  the  soul  refiner, 

That  brought  this  perfect  bliss  ; 
My  brightest  dreams  of  pleasure 

Have  never  equalled  this. 
Earth's  withering  cares  and  sorrows 

Have  vanished  from  my  view ; 
Heaven's  gates  of  pearl  are  open 

And  the  splendor  shining  through. 


SUBMISSION. 


I  would  that  I  could  soar  away 

Up  through  the  straight  and  narrow  way, 

And  enter  the  blissful  realms  of  day, 

Where  thought  has  often  flown. 
My  soul  aflame  with  holy  fire, 
I'd  touch  with  joy  some  angel's  lyre, 
And  as  the  strains  rose  higher,  higher, 

I'd  bow  before  the  throne. 

But  ah,  were  life  a  summer  dream ; 
If  no  dark  cloud  should  intervene, 
And  joys  were  lasting  as  they  seem, 

Would  my  poor  selfish  heart 
Deal  gently  with  a  brother's  woe  ; 
Lift  burdens  from  the  poor  and  low ; 
With  sweet  words  soothe  the  mourner's  woe 

And  of  it  bear  a  part  ? 

With  patience  I  must  learn  to  wait, 
But  not  with  those  who  come  too  late, 
To  enter  at  the  golden  gate 

Celestial  joys  on  high. 
I'll  follow  at  the  Saviour's  feet, 
And  pray  my  work  shall  be  complete, 
Each  duty  through  His  love  made  sweet ; 

Thus  Heaven  is  ever  nigh. 


DEPARTED  JUNE. 


Flower-crowned  May  went  to  sleep  near  a  musical  rill, 
Just  when  June  was  beginning  her  songs  to  trill, — 
Went  to  sleep  'neath  the  silvery  moon. 

June's  cheeks  grew  red 

And  she  blushingly  said 
I'll  scatter  fresh  flowers 

O'er  the  sleeper's  bed — 
Then  sweet  bloomed  the  roses  of  June. 

June  followed  her  sleeping  sister  May, 

And  the  flowers  wept  when  she  went  away, — 

And  the  dove  wailed  a  mournful  tune. 

But  blithe  and  gay 

Was  our  queen  that  day ; 
As  little  children 

When  at  their  play. 
Light-hearted  and  happy  June. 

She  will  come  again  with  her  smiles  and  tears, 
When  the  cycles  pass  of  departing  years ; 
She  will  come  in  her  beauty  and  bloom. 

With  blossoms  rare 

In  her  golden  hair; 

Clothed  in  wonderful  robes 

Such  as  summer  shall  wear, 
Then  we'll  welcome  our  smiling  June. 


WITH  THE  GIFT  OF  A  ROSE. 


You  gave  me  a  rose,  my  fair  young  friend — 
A  rose  all  fresh  with  morning  dew — 

A  fragrant  rose,  whose  blushes  blend 

With  the  smile  on  your  lips,  so  pure  and  true. 

A  radiant  rose  you  seem  to  me, 

With  joyful  heart  and  fancy  free, 

And  dancing  feet  that  gayly  glide 

O'er  life's  summer  sea,  with  its  rising  tide. 

O  sweet -breathed  rose  !  O  precious  flower  ! 

In  silent  language  all  your  own 
You  speak  of  dell  and  woodland  bower 

Where  wood-nymphs  weave  their  leafy  throne. 
Where  thrushes  join  in  gleeful  song, 
While  echoing  hills  the  notes  prolong, 
And  rippling  streams  with  music  sweet 
Go  dancing  on  with  fairy  feet. 

The  artist's  pencil  seeks  in  vain 

To  paint  the  glory  of  a  rose ; 
The  poet's  soul  must  throb  with  pain, 

And  dream  in  love's  secure  repose, 
Ere  he  can  sing  a  tender  song 
Of  memories  dear  that  round  him  throng, 
Of  roses  sweet ;  that  faded  soon 
But — blest  the  summer  with  their  bloom. 


My  fair  young  friend,  your  gift  shall  be 

Remembered  in  the  future  years, 
Though  life  should  only  bring  to  me 

A  gathered  recompense  of  tears. 
Ah,  may  your  life  be  bright  with  leaves 
All  harvested  in  golden  sheaves, 
And  budding  hopes  with  blossoms  bright 
Dispel  the  shadowy  clouds  of  night. 


GENTLE  WORDS. 


Gentle  words  are  precious  jewels 

Whose  worth  can  ne'er  be  told  ; 
We  should  value  them  as  rubies 

Set  in  shining  frames  of  gold. 
Ah,  'tis  well,  like  running  water 

Gentle  words  are  always  free — 
Do  not  fear  to  use  them  often 

Thus  rewarded  you  shall  be. 

Should  you  find  an  erring  brother 

Stumbling — just  about  to  fall — 
Give  your  hand  to  help  him  gently, 

Or  do  not  help  at  all. 
For  should  you  speak  unkindly, 

You  might  find  your  words  were  vain 
Go,  spread  roses  in  his  pathway 

And  remove  the  thorns  of  pain. 


-154  — 

Should  his  feeble  footsteps  tremble 

On  the  dark  and  dangerous  brink ; 
Go  and  throw  your  arms  around  him, 

Do  not  let  your  brother  sink. 
Shield  him  from  the  cruel  tempter 

'Till  the  tempter's  power  is  past ; 
Do  this  seven  times  and  seventy — 

You  may  win  his  soul  at  last. 

There  is  an  Eye  above  us 

Notes  the  sparrows  when  they  fall, 
And  with  loving  arms  extended 

He  is  watching  over  all. 
And  our  deeds  shall  not  be  hidden 

While  our  thoughts  are  understood  ; 
And  our  acts  shall  be  remembered — 

Both  the  evil  and  the  good. 


LITTLE    MARY. 


[A  little  girl  whose  mother  was  a  friend  of  the  author,  said  one  day  : 
"  Mother,  I  want  to  see  Jesus.      Please  brush  the  clouds  away."] 


"I  want  to  see  Jesus; 

Mother,  brush  the  clouds  away  ; ' ' 
'Twas  thus  said  little  Mary 

One  pleasant  summer  day  : 


—  155  — 

And  o'er  her  childish  features 
Fell  a  flood  of  go-lden  light, 

While  good  angels  gathered  'round  her 
In  their  robes  of  fairy  white. 

"  I  want  to  see  Jesus, 

Does  He  dwell  among  the  stars 
Where  the  amber  sunlight  lingers 

In  mellow  golden  bars  ? 
Mother,  I  want  to  see  him — 

Oh  !  will  he  be  my  friend, 
And,  if  I  always  love  Him, 

Will  He  save  me  in  the  end  ? ' ' 

Years  have  passed,  and  little  Mary 

In  life's  cares  has  borne  a  part, 
And  the  image  of  the  Master 

Is  reflected  in  her  heart ; 
And  though  clouds  have  often  hidden 

Life's  brightness  from  her  view, 
She  has  learned  to  always  love  Him 

And  through  faith  to  trust  Him  too. 

Ah,  many,  very  many, 

Have  breathed  the  self-same  prayer, 
When  their  path  has  been  surrounded 

By  anguish  and  despair; 
But  Jesus  kindly  whispers 

He  will  brush  the  clouds  away, 
And  welcome  all  who  love  Him 

To  the  realms  of  endless  day. 


—  i. -6  — 


WHERE  SHALL  THE  SOUL  FIND  REST. 


Where  shall  the  troubled  soul  find  rest — 
On  Chimborazo's  rugged  steep  ; 

Or  on  the  Ganges'  sluggish  tide 

Where  deadly  night-winds  softly  creep. 

Or  where  the  frightened  Arab  flies 
Before  the  simoon's  poisonous  breath ; 

Upon  the  torrid,  burning  sands ; 

No.     There  to  linger  would  be  death. 

Deep  down  in  hidden  ocean  caves, 
While  all  around  dark  billows  roar ; 

Or  where  the  restless,  sleepless  Nile 
Is  washing  Egypt's  fertile  shore. 

Or  out  upon  green  Oman's  sea 

Where  pearls  in  silent  beauty  sleep, 

And  the  pale  moon  shines  languidly 
While  stars  their  quiet  vigil  keep. 

In  lands  where  glittering  iceberg's  spire 
Points  to  the  gloomy  arctic  sky  ; 

Or  mid  Stromboli's  crimson  flame 
Shall  the  o'erburdened  spirit  fly. 


Where  Lebanon's  tall  cedars  wave 

And  Zion's  daughters  sorrowing  weep ; 

Or  out  upon  the  emerald  plains 

Where  faithful  shepherds  watch  their  sheep. 

Where  California's  golden  sands 

Produce  the  burnished  shining  ores; 

Or  where  the  thundering  cataract 
Its  volume  of  destruction  pours. 

Ah  no ;  beyond  the  Heavenly  hills 

Where  faith  can  see  the  immortal  shore — 

Our  aching  hearts  may  seek  for  rest, 
Where  toil  and  sorrow  come  no  more. 


TO  AN  OLD  FRIEND. 


[The  Saturday  Evening  Post  via.?,  a  valued  literary  friend  of  the  author 
in  childhood,  and  subsequently  she  became  a  contributor  for  its 
columns.] 


My  dear  old  friend  your  smiling  face 

Reminds  me  of  my  childhood  hours, 
When  in  my  heart  you  found  a  place, 

Enwreathed  in  fancy's  budding  flowers ; 
I  loved  you  then,  I  love  you  still — 

As  other  hearts  can  surely  say — 
These  memories  bright  my  senses  thrill 

And  bear  me  back  to  childhood's  day. 


-158- 

When  first  we  met  my  hair  was  gold 

As  rippling  wavelets  of  the  sea, 
But  now  they  say  I'm  growing  old — 

I  wonder,  friend,  if  this  can  be  ? 
The  fields  were  red  with  clover  bloom 

And  gay  the  thrushes'  woodland  song, 
The  air  was  rich  with  sweet  perfume, 

The  meadow  brooklet  danced  along. 

But  ah,  alas,  in  later  years, 

Where  grapes  'mid  clustering  foliage  fell, 
I  found  the  recompense  of  tears 

For  work  that  seemed  to  me  was  well. 
And  roses  gathered  all  too  soon 

Dropped  at  my  feet  in  frail  decay, 
While  ships  I  hoped  to  greet  at  noon 

Would  drift  from  out  my  sight  away. 

Dear  friend,  since  you  have  older  grown 

And  marked  the  cycles  of  the  years, 
Pray  tell  me  where  the  years  have  flown 

And  where  the  smiles  and  where  the  tears ; 
Where  are  the  friends  whose  rythmic  flow 

Through  your  bright  pages  spoke  to  me ; 
My  dear  old  friends  of  long  ago — 

Oh,  tell  me  where  those  friends  can  be  ? 

As  now  I  read  your  pages  through 

With  earnest  thought  from  day  to  day, 


-'59- 

You  give  me  hope  and  bring  to  view 
For  future  life  a  brighter  way. 

Your  heart  is  young,  your  life  is  old, 
In  unison  we  thus  agree, 

And  joys  our  lives  have  often  told 
Give  life  to  you  and  strength  to  me. 


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